#not sure how this post is gonna go over but here it is

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 9

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 8 of...who knows.

It felt like forever. He knew it wasn't. It must have been minutes until the car door was ripped open and Charles slipped in right next to him.

It wasn’t until the doors were slammed shut behind Charles that Max dared to look at the Monégasque.

His heart skipped a beat at the sight. Charles was still in his racing suit just as him, the suit itself streaked with sweat.

The moment the car door closed, the car started riving.

"Merde," Charles cursed. Max could only agree. "I am sorry, that it took this long."

Max gave a sharp, jerky shake of his head. "You don’t have to apologize," he somehow managed to get the words out. "I’m just..." he trailed off, a shaky exhale escaping him. "How could you make it here so fast?" he asked, casting a quick glance in his friend’s direction.

Charles snorted. "Your press officer had a shouting match with Ferrari's,“ he said simply.

If Max wasn’t so focused on not completely losing it, he might’ve been amused with the mental image. But at the moment, he could only shake his head.

Next to him, Charles let out a sigh. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"No. You?" he gave back.

"I don't have a bad feeling," Charles said quietly. “Not worse than it has been for days at least.”

Twin Telepathy was apparently a thing as far as Charles and Colette were concerned. 

Quite frankly, till this day, it still weirded Max out. They just seemed to know when the other one wasn't feeling well. 95% of the time, they got sick at the same time. They communicated more easily with each other than with anyone else, and regardless of what game they played...they needed to be put on opposite teams, because otherwise nobody had a chance against them.

Max was well aware of Colette and Charles' strange connection. Even if he didn’t fully understand it. They both had some sort of sixth sense when it came to the other one, and it sometimes felt like they were talking in secret code.

"What’s it telling you right now?" he asked, his voice barely above a rough whisper.

Charles turned to him fully at that, and Max saw the way his eyes swept over him, taking in every aspect of his appearance.

Max could only imagine what Charles was seeing. He felt like a walking wreck, and there was no doubt his appearance was mirroring that.

"Colette is in pain," Charles finally said, his voice strangely quiet. "She’s scared."

That answer felt like somebody shoved a knife into Max’s stomach. He inhaled sharply, the breath catching in his throat. “Of course, she is,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Charles seemed to sense what he was thinking, even without being telepathically connected through whatever the hell Colette and him had going on. The Monégasque reached out and took a firmer hold of his hand, the grip almost crushing.

"Don’t," Charles said firmly, his voice leaving no room for arguments. "Don’t go there. We’re gonna get to her as fast as we can."

There was a brief moment of silence, as Max tried to collect himself. He focused all his attention on the pressure of Charles' hand on his, and somehow, it actually helped.

"I feel so goddamn useless," he finally admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "I want to be with her."

"You want to try calling her before we are in the air?" Charles suggested.

That was not a bad idea, not at all. Max let out a low and slightly shaky exhale, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, I…” he had to stop and clear his throat. “Yeah, I’ll try to call her.”

His hands were shaking when he pulled out his phone out of the backpack that somebody had handed off to him, already packed. Regardless of all the drama that had gone on in the RedBull garage during the year… if it really mattered, the people in there pulled off minor miracles.

Within minutes, his entire day - hell, his entire week - had been packed for him, with all the essentials of clothes and everything else he would need.

He had almost forgotten about the phone in his shaking hands, but now he just stared at the screen for a moment. His fingers were trembling so badly that just unlocking the phone was a challenge in itself.

Jimmy and Sassy were on his lockscreen...a picture that Colette had once sent him when he had been away for one of his races...the two of them laying on top of her on their couch...

Every other time Max saw the photo, it made his heart do a little funny jump. Now though, it made his chest ache. It felt like a sharp stabbing pain, and for a moment, he just sat there and stared at the picture.

Then he called her.

It rang. And it rang, and it rang again. With each passing second, that horrible knot in his stomach tightened a little more. With every ring of the bell, it got harder to breathe.

Finally, to Max’s immense and enormous relief, the line connected.

"Hey, Maxie. I put you on speaker," Victoria's voice came over the phone, sounding surprisingly calm.

A shiver of something resembling dread ran through Max, at the sound of Victoria’s voice. But he pushed past the feeling.

His thoughts were once again running wild - was it a bad sign that Colette wasn’t the one speaking to him? Or was he just overreacting..?

“Hey,” he forced the word out past the lump in his throat. "How are you feeling?" he asked, pleading for Colette's voice. Was it selfish that he just wanted to hear her tell him that everything was going to be okay?

"Better now," Colette's voice came, sounding slightly hoarse.

The words were like a shot of adrenaline, and for a moment, Max actually felt a little lightheaded. “Liefje.” He closed his eyes, just hearing her voice sending another wave of relief through him. “Are you okay? How is Bébé?”

"Bébé has decided that they would rather be born today, so I would suggest you hurry up," Victoria said drily.

"Seems like the kid already inherited Max's need for speed," Charles quipped. "How are you doing, Coco?"

"I'm good," Colette's voice replied, and Max could only imagine the eye-roll that was currently happening. He knew his girlfriend, and he had no doubt that she had been glaring at Victoria ever since the phone was put on speaker.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice suddenly turning much softer. "You're coming, right?"

"Coming," he assured her, his heart aching. "We're coming, I promise."

"I know. I’m not worried." She sounded like she meant it, but Max could easily imagine the anxiety in her eyes.

"You'd better not worry," Charles said, and then added, "I’m keeping him from doing anything dumb."

Max shot Charles a dirty look at that, bt he swallowed down the annoyed protest and focused back on Colette instead. “Just…hold on a little longer, okay?”

"It's not like I can go anywhere else," Colette replied, her voice slightly amused. "I’ll keep our little speed demon in there a little lo...." She broke off and let out a quiet hiss of pain, her voice once again cut off by what Max suspected to be a particularly painful contraction.

“Colette,” he said sharply, all kinds of emotions washing over him, one by one. “Liefje, just…just breathe through it, okay?”

There was a second of panting, then, he heard her take a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” she finally said. “Just…hurts like hell.”

He swallowed and clenched his free hand tightly into a fist, fighting against the urge to just jump out of the car and start running towards the airport.

Colette being in pain was not something he could deal with.

He heard her take a few more deep breaths, and he just sat there, waiting and listening and feeling absolutely useless.

"How long until you get here?" she asked after a moment, her voice breathless. He could see her in his mind, his sweet girl, sitting on the bed and clutching her belly as another contraction hit her.

"We're not even at the airport yet," he told her, and damn it, why were his eyes suddenly burning. "We’ll get there as soon as we can, okay? Just...hold on a little longer."

"What your dad said..." Colette said with a shaky voice.

"I know," he said simply, the grief raw in his voice. Neither of them were ever really going to get over the two babies they had lost. They had learnt to live with the pain, they had dealt with the heartbreak an grief...but it was always going to be scar for them.

"Max, if something…" she began, her voice a little wobbly. He could tell that she was crying, by the way her breathing got a little more hitched and ragged.

But she suddenly cut off and gasped, letting out an even breath. Another contraction..."Hey, nothing is gonna happen," he quickly said, trying to soothe her. "Nothing. I'll be there soon. I'll be there before you know, and our child will meet their parents. We will be fine, we will get through this. You, and me. Together."

"If something happens," Colette continues. "If..."

"No," he cut her off, the word coming out as a growl. "Nothing is gonna happen. You will not talk that way. You’re going to deliver a gorgeous and healthy baby, and I won’t hear anything else."

"Max..." she protested, but Max wasn’t having it.

"You’re not going anywhere," he said firmly, putting as much steel in his voice as he could. "You will be fine. Our baby will be fine, and I will be there soon and I will hold your hand and you can threaten to geld me and all of it will be okay. Just breathe.” 

He could hear the sound of her breathing, deep and even. She was trying to steady it, and Max gripped his phone tighter. He didn’t know if he was trying to hold himself together, or if he was trying to hold on to the sound of her voice.

The seconds ticked by, and then another contraction hit, and he heard her gasp out another ragged breath. Max felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. The idea of her in pain was like an invisible knife twisting a little deeper in his gut, each time.

"We need to go," Charles said suddenly. "We need to get into the plane." The car slowed down at that moment. "Coco, listen to me. I am going to be absolutely fucking furious with you if something happens to you," Charles told her fiercely. 

"Trust me," Colette’s voice said, sounding slightly tired. "I am very, very motivated to stay alive."

That was good. That was a good sign. If she was still being sarcastic and even a little bit cheeky…it was good.

"Just hold on," he told her again, the familiar feeling of helplessness seeping into his bones. "Just keep hanging on, for me. I love you."

“I love you too,” the words were as immediate and as fast as the sunrise each morning. "Hurry up, dammit."

"I’m trying," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I’m trying. We’re at the airport now. We’ll get there as fast as we can-" he had to stop, when he heard her let out another pained gasping sound, as another contraction clearly hit her hard.

“Goddamn,” he exclaimed, all of his muscles tense with the urge to do something. He wanted to help her, he wanted to be there to comfort her…but more than anything,  he was terrified of losing her. "Liefje, just keep breathing, okay? Breathe and stay calm."

"I’m trying to," her voice was breathless, and he knew that she was probably trying hard to fight the urge to cry out. Oh God, he hated that. He hated seeing her in pain, he loathed feeling this utterly useless.

"Go. Love you," she told him.

"I love you," he told her emphatically, wanting to say something more, but then Charles impatiently gestured at him to hurry up and get out of the car. "I...I’ll see you soon, okay? Just hang on, okay?"

"Yeah," he could tell that she was trying even harder to control her voice, trying to put on a calm and steady front for his benefit. "Just..." she cut off and let out a gasp, another contraction evidently hitting her hard. "...just hurry up before this baby decides to make their way out before you arrive, okay?"

"I will," he promised through gritted teeth. "I will, goddammit, I will, just…hang on."

He heard Colette’s pained panting, and each of her breaths was like a stab in the gut.He hated having to hang up on her

Everything in him rebelled at that. How could he, how could he possibly abandon her like that, how could he let her take on this pain and fear all by herself, without him there to hold her hand...but goddamnit, he had no choice.

He took a shuddering breath and pushed past the urge to scream, to slam his fist into something, anything. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from the desperate need to get to her, to overwhelming panic, to anger at the universe for forcing them apart and for putting her through this pain.

Into the plane they went…it was probably the shortest amount of time between entering a plane and taking off Max had ever experienced. 

Before too long they were up in the air, flying towards Nice.

The minutes ticked by, each one passing by like a century. Max would sit in restless agitation at his seat, his mind racing back and forth. Every thought and memory came back to Colette. He just wanted to be at her side, he just wanted everything to be okay…

And instead he would be stuck on this plane for 6 hours.

He would be stuck on this goddamn plane for six hours. Six hours, each one of them filled with the knowledge that the love of his life was giving birth to their child, and he was not there to support her, to hold her hand and reassure her that everything was okay.

It was driving him absolutely insane. He couldn’t take it, he just wanted to be there, with her. He could vividly picture her, sitting in the hospital bed and gripping the rails, her face screwed up in pain as she fought through another contraction. And he was not there to comfort her.

"Maman is with her. Your sister is with her. Lorenzo and Arthur too." Charles said at that moment. “We aren't there but everybody else is."

"How can you be this calm?" Max asked him, dragging a hand through sweat damp hair.

"Don't mistake calm for not being worried," Charles said evenly, his eyes tracking Max's restless pacing of the plane. "I am worried. For her, for you and for the little one. But freaking out isn't gonna do anyone any favours right now."

"I know,” Max said, his voice still strangled tight with stress. He just couldn't get any of the images out of his mind - her struggling and fighting her way through the pain, looking more vulnerable and pale than he had ever seen her...and he was not there.

“Besides, I shouted at Ferrari’s PR and got it out of my system, so currently, I am feeling quite calm.” Charles said darkly. “I imagine that’s going to change again when I am sure that Colette and the baby are alright.”

Max just stared at him. Charles had done what?

If there was a religion that Charles Leclerc believed in then it was Ferrari.

Charles Leclerc was their golden boy. Their Il Predestinato. There was no good-natured fobbing to be had about Ferrari regardless of what issues there had been had through the years, and there had been a lot.

Charles worshipped Ferrari like a malevolent goddess. He didn’t want to hear any criticism of his team and Max had given up on that a very long time ago. 

Charles and Colette both could be the most stubborn people Max had ever match. The only one who could match their stubbornness were each other. 

"You did what?" Max stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. Charles was an absolute Ferrari fan and loyal to the very core…why the hell would he yell at the PR people?

"Why...? What did they do?"

"They weren't even going to tell me that something was wrong with Colette," Charles said darkly. "I knew it. I knew that something was off. But they didn't say anything. It was one of Red Bull's PR Staff that got me out of the cooldown room. Ferrari wouldn't have said anything to me. Ferrari didn't want me to leave either. They wanted to debrief, they wanted me to give interviews,"

Max had to resist the urge to swear. He had been so focused on the fact that he was not with Colette that he hadn't even processed the fact that Ferrari had actually kept her labour a secret from Charles, simply to make him stay and do his goddamn job for them.

"You know that that is not normal, right?" he asked him drily. "I am not telling you that everything is perfect at Red Bull but Christian would never fucking stand for that."

"You know I never expected it," Charles told him, his mouth a thin hard line. "We are the drivers. We are the stars. But we come second. First and foremost, we are assets to the team. What Ferrari wants, Ferrari gets. We drive, we get podiums, we hold the trophies, and we smile for the cameras. Everything else comes second. It doesn’t matter to them. To them, only the trophies matter. "

"That's what they want," Max told him, anger seeping into his voice. "But that's not how it should be. Ferrari is wrong. If something is wrong with your loved ones, they have no right to keep it from you like that. Especially not for the sake of a goddamn interview."

"I know," Charles said, his lips thin with bitterness. "But there's not much I can do about it, is there? We may be the top drivers on the grid, but we drive the car that the teams give us. There's only so much that we can do when the team has power over pretty much every aspect of our career. And believe me, I am going to pay a fucking price for doing what I did. I just don't care at all. It's Colette," he said sharply. "I love all my siblings. I do. I love Lorenzo and Arthur. I would do everything for them. But they aren't my twin. They aren't the second half of me," Charles said simply. "Ferrari be damned."

Max hadn't thought that he was ever going to hear these words out of Charles' mouth but here they were.

"What the fuck did Jos say by the way? What did Coco mean?" Charles demanded.

"He gave an interview to Sky Sports," Max said, fury still embering deep in his gut.

"Of course he did." Charles said, not sounding surprised at all. "What did he say?"

"Confirmed the relationship...and the pregnancy," Max said clenching his teeth. "And if that wasn't enough...he made a...comment about how it had taken us long enough to have a baby."

There was a sharp indrawn breath as Charles absorbed that. "...What?" Charles said after a moment, his voice strangled. "...he made that comment in public? Are - are you serious?"

"I never told him about the two...miscarriages," Max said quietly. "I couldn't deal with whatever well meant advice he was going to have...but I...We lost two babies," Max said weakly. "My father went out there and confirmed our relationship and the pregnancy without talking to either of us. He just made that decision because it's "ridiculous" that we kept it a secret for so long. An it’s making me furious. This wasn't his decision to make. This was ours."

"Yes," Charles said, his jaw clenching. "It was. Your decision. Nobody else’s. He had absolutely no right to do that. Goddamn it, I have never liked that man, but I've never had the urge to punch him as much as I do this very moment."

"You and me both," Max said. The anger he was feeling would have been burning through him like a damn inferno if he hadn't been so worried about Colette.

"This should have come from us," Max repeated quietly. "Not from anybody else."

"It still can come from you," Charles said.

Max paused, looking up at him. "Are you saying we should..." he began uncertainly.

"You want to tell the entire world that you love my sister and that she is having your baby? You have an Instagram account and a phone with an internet connection," Charles said drily. "Tell them the truth. Your truth."

Max opened his mouth and then closed it again. Charles had a point. It was obvious what the news was going to be now if people had seen Jos's interview.

But he wanted to be the one to tell the world. He wanted it to be on his terms. He wanted it to be public but on his public terms. Not his father's.

"Are you ever going to ask my sister to marry you?" Charles asked him suddenly.

The question caught him completely off guard. "...What?" He said blankly, stunned by the change of the conversation.

"You gave her a ring when you were both 18 that you both insisted was only a promise ring," Charles said drily. "Are you ever going to replace it with the real thing?"

He thought back to that ring that still sat on Colette's finger to this day. A simply gold band with a tiny heart-shaped diamond.

He had given it to her in 2016, after his very first Grand Prix win in Spain. He had gone out and bought it that very same day to be exact.

He had bought Victoira a handbag the first time he had scored his championship points...but the first time he had won...he had bought Colette that ring.

"Apparently the baby is only going to have your surname too, because you have an agreement," Charles continued. "Do I actually want to know what that agreement was?"

"We were 18. Both our father's would have probably killed us, if we came to them and told them that we were engaged," Max said with a sigh. The Leclerc's had always been supportive of their relationship but Hervè Leclerc had very much thought that both Colette and him were far too young to get married. 

Jos on the other hand...Max didn't even want to imagine that screaming fit.  "So I gave her that ring and we agreed that..."

"You agreed that..." Charles repeated slowly, silently urging him to continue.

Max let out a deep sigh and dragged a hand through his already messy hair, mussing it up even more. "We agreed that we didn't really need a piece of paper to tell us what we already knew," he said simply. "Colette and I had been together for 6 years at that point, we already knew and accepted that we were going to be together for the rest of our lives. It was just a matter of when. So we decided that we didn't need a damn piece of paper to know that we were committed to each other. We already knew that, without a doubt," Max said simply. "It was a promise ring. To love and to cherish, till death us do part. One day we would do it properly, but till then...that ring was a promise."

Charles stared at him. "Let me get this straight. You have been married to my sister for 10 years?" he asked him sharply.

Max winced. Okay. Put like that, it sounded kinda bad. "We never had the actual wedding," he said sheepishly. "We both know it wasn't necessary for us, so...we kinda just...never got around to it."

"I mean, I did ask your father for her hand in marriage when it was clear that he wasn't going to be there...when we eventually did it properly...but...for us that ring was… It was more than enough," Max said quietly. "I knew damn well that I would be with her for the rest of my life. She knew it. We both knew it. And that ring was a symbol between us that sealed the deal. We both knew that it was going to be for forever and always. It was a promise. A promise to always stay by each other’s side. No matter how badly things fell apart around us. No matter how much the world wanted to tear us to apart. We were going to stay together, come hell or high water. We didn't need a paper to prove that to us or the rest of the world," Max said firmly.

Charles stared at him for a couple of long moments, processing this. Max was well aware that, from an outside perspective, it might sound weird. That they had been so young, but so utterly certain that they were going to spend their lives together.

But he and Colette had been together for years. And he had seen how strongly they had bonded over the years, seen what they had been able to deal with as a team, as one, and how they had come through every single thing that the life had thrown at them together.

"You two are utterly ridiculous," Charles finally said drily. "You didn't get engaged because as far as you two were concerned you already got married years ago."

Max winced a little bit and couldn't really refute it. If he were to be honest, he'd have admit it did sound utterly ridiculous, when Charles spelled it out like that.

But that just...that was how badly they had known right from the very beginning that this was it for them. They didn't need a piece of paper to tell them what they already knew.

"I'll ask her properly," he promised Charles. "I already got the ring. But Colette doesn't want to overshadow Lorenzo and Charlotte and I knew that she wasn't going to want to have a big party while pregnant so I figured I would just wait."

Charles was slightly taken aback by his words, before he gave a small smile. "She'll definitely say yes, you know," he said, the corner of his eyes crinkling with affection.

Max smiled in return. His heart ached with the thought of her. "I hope so," he said quietly, feeling like there was a hole in his chest where his heart was supposed to be. "I really, really hope so."

[sturnlsstuff]

FAMILIAR STRANGER | last chapter

what's gonna happen when you find out about your enemy's biggest secret?

ghostface!chris x enemy!reader

chapter seven

— warnings: smut with plot, dom!chris, sub!reader, making out, unprotected p in v, riding, creampie, mentions of murder, cursing, pet names, - english isn't my first language!!

~~~

you weren't a person who could get easily scared. always being able to watch horror movies with your friends completely unbothered, making them all amused at how calmly you sat through the entire thing. you weren't afraid of the dark, ghosts and other things like that. there was nothing that could make you jump out of fear. the only person who sometimes scared you was your ex, but he's gone now so technically you should be living a peaceful life.

but the moment you opened the door and he stormed inside, your heart was beating faster than ever before. it was that guy from the party who was flirting with you and were friends with jake. and now you were alone with him in your apartment for almost ten minutes, not being able to get rid of him. to put some distance between the two of you, you found yourself on one side of the kitchen island, ready to defend yourself if necessary, and he was on the other.

"i wonder..." he speaks up again. he hasn't said anything important yet, except that he won't leave until he finds out the truth. you didn't know what he was talking about. "-- how was it possible that you were able to face jake? he was always stronger than you and he definitely wouldn't let some whore like you kill him. so how did you do it?"

"what?" your breath hitches in your throat at the mention of jake and him being dead. "what are you talking about?"

"don't play fucking dumb with me," he walks around your kitchen like he owns the place. "you had so many reasons to kill him."

"yes i had," you admit. "but i didn't kill him. and honestly? i regret that it wasn't me." he stops, giving you a quick glance and clicking his tongue against his teeth, "bold."

"true."

"you're really brave, huh?" he raises his eyebrow, "or stupid."

"you're stupid coming here and throwing suspicions left and right without any good basis."

"oh, i have a lot," he leans on his elbows on the kitchen island, looking directly into your eyes. "jake accused you of cheating and made everyone know what a whore you are, then recorded the video he was going to post but didn't manage to. it probably pissed you off really bad, didn't it? his phone also disappeared, the cops didn't find it. who else knew about it? only you..." he remains silent for a moment letting his words sink in. "-- and sturniolo."

something shifts in the air, you feel your ears ring at the mention of that name. you could bear the accusations against yourself, but against him? it was too close to the truth. at that moment you realized that this might end up bad.

"ahh, did i get it right?" he notices your expression, a grin appears on his face that didn't reach his eyes. "wait, oh shit," he chuckles, shaking his head. "maybe you cheated on jake with chris and your new little boyfriend didn't like how it could ruin his reputation? you know he likes to bang a different girl every weekend. so was it him that killed him? and you two threw suspicion on that ghostface killer? spill the tea, c'mon. unless..." a frown appears between his eyebrows, something in his gaze changes. "unless, it's him. he's the ghostface? wait, holy fuck-"

"you don't know shit–" you cut him off, the wave of nausea washes over you. "it's not true–"

"oh, i'm pretty fucking sure it is," he retors. "that would make more sense, you wouldn't be able to fight jake on your own. so what, you're dating a psychopath? i mean, you must be pretty fucking insane yourself..."

"the only psychopath i dated was jake, so shut the fuck up," you say annoyed, adrenaline rushing through your veins. you didn't like him talking about chris like that.

"so it's true, huh? chris is the ghostface? and you know about it? what's the reason? i thought you hate him..." he tilts his head to the side, thinking. everyone knew that you and chris dislike eachother, so he was pretty fucking confused. "maybe you let him fuck you? must be good if you keep silent about him killing people—"

"shut the fuck up," you snap at him again, feeling the blood drain from your face as his words really hit like a kick to the gut. you tried not to think about why you really don't want to tell anyone about what you found out about chris. however, now this situation has triggered emotions in you that you has been pushing aside until now.

he walks around the kitchen island towards you immediately causing you to step back putting some distance between you two. he could sensed your nervousness which made him feel like he was better than you, determined to take revenge, thinking he had it all figured out.

"i'm gonna ruin you two. you won't have a life in this town once everyone finds out about what you and your boyfriend—"

"he's not my boyfriend—"

"great, so you're just admitting to being a whore," he has you backing out against the wall. "i will get proof and once i do, you two are done."

even though you felt it in your bones that it would be the best to stay quiet this time, your personality won and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, "if you make it."

you thought that your words would somehow discourage him, that maybe you two would be able to come to an agreement, but he just smiled as if he had just won the lottery. like he was waiting for you to say something like that. then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and waved it in your face, "i forgot to tell you, it's recording. so i in fact made it, you basically admitted to everything." he takes a few steps back, looking at your shocked expression with satisfaction. "he will be the one who won't make it. i'll go to the cops before sturniolo comes at me, then he'll get what he deserves. along with you."

he slowly backs out of your kitchen, leaving you with pounding heart, wanting to scream to stop him somehow, not believing that this was happening, but your body was glued to the floor.

he adds, "in jail you won't get the same cell so he won't be able to fuck you anymore. must suck, hm?" and with a big grin on his face, he leaves your apartment, the tension in the air making your head spin.

it took you about five minutes to even understand what had happened and how dangerous it was for chris. you didn't think at all about the consequences for you, you didn't think about anything other than to make sure he won't get caught. you feel the urge to protect him but don't know how. this guy has already left and there's not much you could do.

on shaky like jelly legs you ran to your room, finding your phone and staring to call chris. he didn't answer. you left him twenty messages, called him fifteen times, and he didn't answer.

you felt as if the walls in your room suddenly began to close in, squeezing you between them. you couldn't catch your breath, your heart was pounding as you keep pacing around the room, calling chris over and over again, but all you could hear was his voicemail. you even called matt, but he didn't answer either, which made you even more nervous. your palms were sweating as you texted chris again, trying not to panic, knowing that he definitely wouldn't get caught that easily, but the anxiety was making your intrusive thoughts overpower the logic.

you were sending messages like in a trance, trying to explain to chris that you didn't want to do what you did, your messages so chaotic that even if he read them, it would be difficult to understand anything. however, the silence continued, the minutes lengthened, giving the impression of hours, your stomach twisting in knots. it felt like forever. you wanted to go to the triplets' house to see what was happening, but at the same time the uncertainty that you would somehow make everything worse was making you hold back for almost an hour. though after overthinking every options you had, you found yourself pulling on your shoes and opening the front door ready to storm out of your apartment, but instead bumping into someone's body.

the person was quick to push you back inside, locking the door behind you two. your wide eyes look up, the ghostface mask right in front of you, causing a wave of heat and relief to wash over you.

"chris—"

he cuts you off with his mask flipping upwards and pressing his lips to yours, making your breath hitch in your throat. but before you can do anything, chris pulls away and whispers against your lips, his breath mingling with yours, "just shut up. don' say anythin', yeah? just..." he sighs and kisses you again, but you put your hands on his chest to push him away gently. "i called you so many times, we need to—"

"everything's fine just stop talkin'..." he leans in again, but you turn your head slightly causing his lips to brush against your cheek. he let's out a quiet groan in disapproval, though it doesn't discourage him and instead he leans down to trail kisses down your neck. "did you see my messages? this guy from that party a few weeks ago, he was here and just... i didn't mean to say anything and i didn't really told him much, but i think i accidentally... oh- shit, uh, i think.... i— c-chris wait—"

but chris didn't care. his senses were filled with your scent, his heart was pounding in his chest. he already had you pressed against the wall, sucking and biting on your skin, marking you. his gloved hands roaming all over your body, grabbing your ass and lifting you off the floor, your legs and arms automatically wrapping around him to keep from falling. "s'all good, ma, i promise..." he mutters against your skin, hands moving under your shirt.

"but— what happened, did he... did you—"

"i was faster than him."

"but how—"

"i said is fine," chris lifts his head up meeting with your confusion. "you trust me or what? 'cause you gotta. at least in this case." he waited in tense silence until you nodded, his eyes sparkling. "good. now can ya stop interrupting and lemme do what i wanna do?"

"god, you're annoying..."

there was no way you could stay focused when he immediately started working you up, not only with kisses but also with how he was dressed up. the fact that whenever he was around you as a ghostface was turning you on more than it should've, was a bit embarassing, but you couldn't control your emotions. that's why you dropped the topic for now, letting him do whatever he wanted.

you don't even know at what point you're lying flat on the bed, your and chris's clothes tangled somewhere on the floor. he was teasing you, his lips kissing down your chest, his tip brushing against your core through the material of your red lace panties. a wet stain visible through the fabric, his dick throbbing at the sight.

"always sooo eager f'me...." he mutters, smirking against your skin and looking up at you. "ya sure you hate me?"

"i'll hate you more if you keep playing with me," you respond slightly breathless from the make out session from a moment ago and the desire overpowering your body.

"aww, is that so?" he lifts his head up to your level, tilting it to the side and balancing himself on his hands on each side of your head. "and what'cha want, hm? my mouth? fingers? my dick?"

you give him a look, annoyed that he's messing with you knowing full well what you want, but at the same time it gets you even more aroused. you would never admit it and it was very out of character for you but when he had you at his mercy, it was only making you more turned on.

"just fuck me—" after he raises his eyebrows amused, clearly waiting for something more, you add, "please."

"thereeee ya go, princess." he slides your panties down your legs, settling between them and giving himself a few strokes. he slowly pushes inside, taking his time on purpose to torture you just a little more since he loved hearing you beg for it. "chris, please, more..." you whine, chewing on your plump bottom lip, getting a smirk in response.

"y'know..." he whispers into your ear. "-- you're the only one i ever want to fuck like this."

"like— like this...? what— oh! uh, what does that... mean?" you stutter when he pulls almost all the way back and then moves his hips forward again, going deeper.

"i mean..." his thrusts picking up speed and force as he settles into a steady rhythm, already making your vision to go blurry. "like, i wanna fuck you so rough, you'd forget how to walk—" he pounds into you almost to prove a point, your bodies slapping together loudly. "but also, sometimes— fuckkk, sometimes... i wanna take it slow and all nice and shit— but i can't fuckin'... decide. not when you look and sound like this—" his words followed by a groan when he feels you clenching around him. he looks at you, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "is this makin' you fuckin' cum already?"

"what? n-no— mmmm, fuck!" embarrassment was all you could feel, when the knot in your stomach was quickly growing, making your legs tremble because of how hard you tried to hold back. chris let's out a low chuckle and wraps his lips around your hardening nipple, his tongue swirling around it what sends vibrations straight to your throbbing cunt.

he barely started and you already felt the pleasure overwhelming you, his words affecting you more than you would like to admit. you don't know if he understood how intimate that sounded and if it meant the same to him as it did to you, but it was enough to turn you into a moaning mess.

"c'mon, don't hold back, is fine... actually hot as fuck how fast i can make ya come— mhmm, thaaaat's right..." he pulls away from your breast with a pop, his breath catches as he feels your muscles tightening around him. he licks his lips watching as your expression turns into a full, clear pleasure. you're pathetically fast to let euphoria consume you, your tight heat sucking him in. "fuckkk, milkin' me so well—"

"chris—" you whimper as he fucks you through your orgasm, not even going to slow down, loving the effect he has on you and how you let him have such control over your body.

"shh— m'not done yet and.... we won't be for a while—" he captures your lips into a kind of demanding, but somehow gentle kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he continues to fill you over and over again. "fuck, you always take me so deep..." he mutters against your lips.

for you, it felt like being on another planet. not being able to understand how it works that chris made you feel things you couldn't normally feel, not only physically but also... emotionally. you were embarrassed, but too caught up in how good it felt to worry about it yet.

"see, i can't control myself around you 'n this shit is— pissin'— me off—" a choaked moan leaves his lips when he punctuates his words with deep thrusts, hitting your g-spot perfectly.

"oh my— feels so good, chris, please—"

"didn't fuck you for almost two weeks and it felt like a fuckin' nightmare—" your long manicured nails digging into his back, marking him just as he did with the hickeys on your skin before. it only spurred him on, his cock throbs deep inside you. "holy fuck, i love this pussy..." he pulls back slightly, grabbing your ankles and placing them on his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. the new angle lets him pierce even deeper, stealing a muffled scream from you.

despite the fact that you were practically in heaven right now, you were still yourself and couldn't help, but mutter proudly, "i know."

he smirks, "that attitude... fuck— y'know, i missed your smart mouth too... gonna use it to tell me how well m'fuckin' you right now?" when you're unable to respond because of the constant moans escaping your mouth, he reaches with one hand for the ghostface mask that was lying next to you, and puts it on with a shake of his head. "maybe this gonna make you fuckin' scream more—"

"oh— chris...fu—ckk..." your eyes widen as you see him, not understanding how it works and why does it have such an effect for you only with him, but your pussy immediately start to tighten around his cock again.

"shit, ya really love this, hm? that's so— hot—" with your legs on his shoulders, chris is able to drill into you even deeper, his balls slapping loudly against your ass with each thrust. "but i'll stop if you... fuck— if you don't tell me how good it feels—"

"so good!" your eyes roll back as you keep talking with a shaky voice, "no one can do it better..."

"no shit," his pace quickens knowing you're about to reach another peak, the bed creaking beneath the two of you. "-- no one can and no one fuckin' will."

"chris, m'so close—"

"oh, this is really workin' on ya, huh?" he grins under the mask, groaning at the way you looked right now. he wants to see you like this every day.

your thighs quiver on his shoulders as you try to accommodate his relentless thrusts. he notices your closed eyes, his grip on your hips tightening, "eyes on me— yeaaah, look at me while i make you fall apart on my dick— no one else's.... fuckkkkk—" his own orgasm building up rapidly as he pounds into you, your eyes open again, locked onto his ghostface mask just as the waves are crashing brutally over your body, getting you creaming around him. "fuck, look at that... how fuckin' g-good— shiiit— how good y'look..." a low moan escapes him as you're coming apart beneath him, sending chris spiraling over the edge. "fuck, gonna fill this pussy up so full..."

"mhhph, soo... full–" you repeat after him, squirming around on the mattress, trying your hardest to keep your eyes open. he buries himself balls-deep one final time, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he floods your spasming pussy with his hot seed.

sated, chris collapses forward, propping himself on his hands and keeping most of his weight off you. both of you panting, your legs falling down from his shoulders onto the mattress. he knows how obsessed you are with the ghostface mask but his obsession with feeling your lips on his is bigger, so he takes it off and leans down to kiss you. it wasn't heated and hungry like previous make-out sessions, for you it felt almost... sweet. can't help but wonder if chris felt it too.

he's first to break the kiss, his messy hair slightly falling into his eyes. after pulling out, he lays down next to you, you both staying quiet for a moment, his thoughts clearly occupied with something while you tried to come back to your senses, after not only the intensity of your orgasms, but the realization that he didn't kiss you after sex before.

after clearing his throat, he's first to speak up, "i thought you snitched on me for a moment." it catches you off guard, but he continues, "i got a text from that idiot saying that he knows everything and that you were the one to tell him. i believed at first," he admits. "but then he said he knows it was me and you who killed jake, that's how i knew he's bluffin'. and i remembered what y'told me when you... y'know, had that fever a few days ago—"

he gives you a quick glance, having your full attention so he keeps going, "you probably don't remember, but you said that you wouldn't say anything 'bout me being the ghostface 'cause you can be the only one—"

"--to ruin your life." his eyes snap to you with surprise at the interruption. "if someone else do this, where's my satisfaction in that?" you repeat your words, fully remembering saying this because you meant it.

"yeah—" staring at each other for too long, he finally breaks it and speaks again. "yeah, uh, so i remembered your words and i was like there's no way you'd just do that. i was gonna talk to you first, but i found him leaving your apartment and that fuckin' pissed me off so i came after him and— y'know. he spilled everything, what he knew, what he told ya, that he was recordin' your conversation... already took care of this too," he says catching on as you're about to ask about this. "so you good, no need to worry 'bout shit."

you nod, relieved that chris knew that you kept your mouth shut, and only unintentionally said something that led this guy to the fact that chris is the ghostface killer. "m'glad you didn't say shit 'cause it'd make me—" he's about to say angry, pissed of, but he knows better than that. he would actually get his heart stabbed if you decided to betray him. "-- upset."

"upset?" your eyebrow raises as you try to process his words. he immediately rolls his eyes, trying to play it off, "yeah, no big deal, just sayin'."

"pretty big deal to me," you respond. knowing chris and how closed off he was half of his life, how you never saw him sad, hearing him saying he'd be upset if you decided to snitch on him meant more than it should've.

"a'ight, shut up..." he mutters, shifting on his side so he could see your face better. "what m'tryin' to say is, everything's fine and this guy won't bother you again. actually no one fuckin' will..." he smirks, "besides me, of course. 'cause if someone else do this, where's my satisfaction in that?"

trying so hard to bite back a smile, but you can't help it when he just simply repeats your words. now you roll your eyes, "what, gonna be my bodyguard now?"

"more like a guardian angel," he matches your sarcastic tone, getting a stare from you. "angel? you? are you even hearing yourself?"

"oh yeah, pretty fuckin' clear too."

you hum, but the smile stays on your face. remembering about something, you sit up and without even realizing it, you put on his shirt, which reached halfway down your thigh. but chris notices it, and not only does he almost immediately become hard again at seeing you in something that was his, but he also feels a warmth spreading across his chest, as if desire was mixed with something else he couldn't quite name.

you are looking for something in the desk and then come back to the bed, siting down and giving him jake's phone that chris left you on that unforgettable day for you. his expression questioning you so you explain, "i don't want anything that's his. don't want that pathetic apology or anything else, just need to be free from him. take it back and break or something, i don't really care."

he raises his eyebrows, but nods without putting a fight and grabs the phone, putting it aside. the fact that he was still naked distracts you, but he doesn't seem to care at all, so you reach for the mask, running your fingers over its features to distract yourself. there's so many things swirling in your head that you wanted to ask him about out of curiosity, but you knew you had to be careful with him. chris can switch really fast, starting to ignore you or even leave. that's why you think about what you can ask and what you can't so as not to scare him away. "why did you decide to start doing it? you know, killing people isn't exactly... i don't know—"

"men," he corrected you, but there's no usual bite in his tone. "killin' men. couldn't stand the fact how annoyin' they are 'bout everything, thinking they're the one in control, doing with women what they please."

"isn't this what you're doing though?" you blurt out, quickly looking at him, immediately regretting how it sounded. "i mean, like, you fuck girls all the time and don't care about anything."

"yeah, never said i ain't a hypocrite," he agrees smirking. "but i told ya already, i always keep things straight from the beginning. the girls i'm sleepin' with know it's only a hookup." you bite your tongue not to ask why he didn't tell you the same thing at the beginning, but you remember how he reacted when you asked him about it the other day. chris notices your expression, "c'mon, say it. since when you hold back? where's that badass spirit?" he playfully nudges your arm.

you roll your eyes, looking back at the mask, "you didn't tell me we're only fucking. i mean, i know, but what if i didn't? and you act sooo respectful to women out of sudden—"

"okay now, i ain't exactly a perfect gentleman and i know that, i'm not tryna look like one. but i also have my rules, y'know..." his tongue clicks against his teeth as he thinks. "i didn't tell you, 'cause i wasn't expecting us to just fuck then 'n i didn't really could focus on thinkin', when i had you on my desk like this—" his smirk widen after the glare you give him, he notices the blush creeping up your cheeks, adding it to his lists of how many times he made you do it already.

"okay, what about after?"

"i don't know, is not a big deal, like what do y'want me to say? i thought it's clear we only fuck."

"it is," a frown appears between your eyebrows. "actually not really. why did you help me when i was sick? did you even come to my place to hookup again?"

this question makes irritation slowly start to take over chris's body, the territory you entered was dangerous and the shift in the air was clear. felt like you were on thin ice, though you just had to know.

he's quiet for a moment, seeming to have ignored your question, but his brain was racing. ever since he had that conversation with matt, it was all he could think about for the past few days. he didn't care about anyone except his brothers, but you are making him feel complicated emotions.

just when you're about to tell him to forget about the question, thinking he won't answer, he speaks up. "i told you, i thought you're ignoring me and i don't like when people do that shit." his tone too casual, chris clearly failing at trying to play this cool. "i saw you feelin' that bad and... like, i know you think i'm the biggest asshole ever and probably it's true, but leaving you with that big ass fever would be just insane even f'me."

he couldn't admit that he cared a little about the state he found you in that day. he couldn't let you figure him out like matt did.

"okay, but you didn't have to let me be all over you."

you tried to forget how it felt, even though it all seemed like a fever dream, you knew it was real. you were practically glued to him and felt a little confused when you thought about it, knowing how nice it was, even though neither of you were the type to cuddle.

"what'd you wan' me to do?" he raises his eyebrows, but his cheeks turn a light shade of pink, which makes your eyes widen. this man doesn't blush like ever. "push you off your own couch? nah, got some manners, y'know."

"oh really?"

"yeah."

"so you didn't enjoy it even a liiittle bit?"

"you'd want me to?" he's fully convinced you will disagree.

"and if i say yes? then what?"

he clicks his tongue against his teeth, his blue eyes slightly darkening with... lust, perhaps? and something more. "then we have a problem." he grabs your wrist, pulling you on top so that you were straddling him, his hands resting on your thighs, which causes your stomach to flip.

"and why's that?"

"'cause maybe i want you to want me to enjoy it."

"what a good play on words."

"yeah, m'good at that."

"what else you good at?"

he narrows his eyes, gripping your hips and almost urging you to rub against his half-hard dick, stealing a quiet whimper from you. "i think you already know."

"maybe i need a reminder–"

"what a greedy girl," he smirks, pulling you into a kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. you already feel yourself getting turned on again, now moving your hips on your own. "and it wasn't even twenty minutes..." he mutters against your lips proud of the effect he has on you.

"shut up..." you keep grinding down against him until he gets fully hard again, a groan leaving his lips. he asks out of sudden, "you wanna keep doing that? hookin' up?"

"we shouldn't," you answer, positioning yourself above him, teasing you both with running his tip along your sticky folds.

"yeah, but m'askin' if you wanna, not if we should—" he grabs your wrist to stop you from taking off the shirt. "so?"

you know it's not a good idea, but you nod against your own logic. "yeah, i want to."

"good. now keep the shirt on, and— put this on too.." he points to the ghostface mask you still had in your hand, remembering how the last time he told you to put it on, he almost went crazy. you don't think twice and do what he said, at the same moment sinking down onto his dick, your gummy walls immediately wrapping around him. chris was obsessed with the way you looked in his shirt and mask, on top of him. it almost makes him cum right then and there. "shiit, you're so sexy—"

you respond with a moan, starting to move your hips slowly, "you sure you hate me?" a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as you repeat his question from earlier. he grips your hips tightly, savoring the feeling of being inside your heat again. "didn't decide yet," he retorts sarcastically, as you quickened your pace, leaning back a little to put your hands on his thighs for some balance.

he watches how you ride him, his brain racing with thoughts but he decides to say a little more, the way you're on top of him makes him relax and less embarrassed to talk about such things. "i really couldn't stand the thought of you ignorin' me— fuck, that's why, i, uh— came to your place to check if we good—"

"i wasn't ignoring you..."

"i know," he nods, thrusting up to meet your movements, causing you to see stars. "but i'd care if you did—" your heart swells at his admission and it only makes you want him to feel so good, that he won't ever need anyone else to satisfy him. "fuck, y'look so pretty like this— even hotter in this fuckin' mask, holy shittt—"

"you need to trust me that i won't tell— mmhpp, oh my— f-fuckk, that i... won't tell anyone about your secret..."

"mhm, i know this now," he nods, fucking up into you harder, the pressure building up until he thinks he might lose his damn mind. "fuck, you're squeezin' me so tight—" he groans, his fingers digging into your ass and hips as he tries to hold on. "oh my god chris—" you whine and moan, legs starting to hurt from the hard and fast pace you're keeping, but you don't care at all.

"y'know, i think i decided 'bout the hate thing..." his hips bucking upward, taking over the control when you lean forward, propping yourself on your hands on either side of his head. he can't believe how hot you look in that ghostface mask. "might tolerate you a little more from now."

"y-yeah?" you start clenching around him, getting a hiss from him as he tries to find relief from the torturous tightness.

"fuck, y'hurt so good—"

you smile under the mask, eyes rolling back as you feel your orgasm building up. "see i think that i tolerate you n-now as well— oh!"

"thaaat's it, gorgeous, holy fuck," he purrs, your entire body shake as you come apart on top of him, your inner walls clamping down on his dick in a vice-like grip. it's too much, and he let's out a feral groan as he buries himself inside you and explodes, his release so intense it leaves his vision go blurry.

after riding out both of your highs, you slowly get off him, taking off the mask as well. his eyes are still closed, almost like he didn't want to see your reaction to what he's about to do. feeling you want to pull away, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side so that your head rests on his shoulder. shock washes over you, not expecting him to do something like this, though you're fast to tell yourself that maybe it's just post orgasm bliss. but when your eyes meet, there's a new warmth in his gaze, a tenderness that contrasts with the way he always looked at you before.

"not good at cuddlin' 'n shit, but i guess y'gonna teach me now, huh?" he tried to maintain his sarcastic tone, but couldn't help and genuinely smile.

relaxing in his arms, his grin is getting to you making you smile like a fool as well. "we have a problem, because i'm not that good at this either."

"good. then we gonna learn together."

neither of you slept that night, too busy with each other. you couldn't stop that feeling in your chest, those butterflies. and it was so weird, so out of character for the two of you.

it felt as if you were some familiar strangers.

a/n: oh my god 😭😭😭 my babies 😭 thank you guys sm for all the love for this series and for me as well, i appreciate it soooo much !! i had a blast writing this story 🤍 i'll still be taking requests about ghostface!chris if anyone has some just lmk, i'd love to write some oneshots about him!!

taglist: @certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @sturnioloslutttt4 @ashlishes @mattsbitchh @hi-people-who-are-alive @stellward123 @inssanely @matts-girlfriend @imnotalive420 @emely9274 @shadowthesim @yunkilm @sophiaxsblog @namelesssav @demyackerman @fratbrochrisgf @lvrsturniolo @chrisweetheart @chrisfavoritewhore @sturnslutz @ncm9696 @certified-sturniolo @mattsobvimyfav @swagalicious260 @giannalovessturniolo @sophand4n4 @brazyturtleneck @jocelyncsblog @sophand4n4 @giannalovessturniolo @alesturniolos @ilovenmcs

[xavimeow]

miscellaneous love and deepspace spicy headcanons

disclaimer: i am not a writer im not even a poster i simply want to post my random thoughts ok do not expect shakespearian riddles in here :3 also fem reader ig but most could be general

Xavier:

-switch but is the most dominant out of the 4

-likes when you act bratty because he enjoys giving punishments

-focuses alot more on your pleasure than his, like he will sit there and give you 5 orgasms in a row on his fingers, tongue, knee, or whatever and not even think about the fact his dick is 2 seconds from exploding

-likes to be really close to you while fucking, basically lays completely on top of you

-not even in a controlling, keeping you in place kind of way, hes simply likes feeling your entire body on his

-actually likes being in control when you're riding him, grabbing you by the waist and holding you inplace while he thrusts into you while his mouth sucks and kisses all over your chest

-not a biter but rather a licker

-likes putting you in a mating press so he can just lick and kiss your neck while asking you if you like it

-wants you to tell him how good he's making you feel at all times

-sensitive ears to both touch and sound

-lovessss when you dirty talk and when you get especially loud while hes pleasuring you

-the second you go to cover your mouth hes grabbing your wrist and pinning it to the bed because how dare you not let him hear every pretty sound being forced out of you by him

-likes to be smothered a bit when going down on you

-when he says sit on his face he means SIT DOWN ON HIS FACE LIKE A CHAIR OK NONE OF THAT HOVERING BS

-likes to go down on you after a mission after you've sweat alot cause he a freak like that

-helping you out with laundry like the good bf he is but also 100% is stealing a pair of your dirty panties im sorry hes just obsessed with you a little bit

-Favorite position: missionary, doggy

-Turn ons: dirty talk, tongues, lazy sex, handcuffs, brat taming, dry humping

-Turn offs: lack of noises, choking

Sylus:

-switch but more dominant

-unpopular opinion but I do not think he's a rough dom sorry

-sure if you were to ask if he can be a little rough with you he'd definitely comply with your request but I truly feel like he'd prefer passionate slow sex over hard and rough sex majority of the time

-well he'd prefer it that way when he's the one in charge

-when he's feeling submissive however, he wants you to absolutely destroy him

-that man wants to be choked and slapped and spit on and called a dumb slut trust me i can see it in his eyes

-finds it really hard to not thrust up into you when you tell him to be still as you ride him, sometimes he doesn't even realize he's doing it (you notice though and, while you do sometimes call him out for it, soemtimes you just let it slide because it feels so good to see him be so needy for you

-you have definitely had one of those remote control vibrators inside you in public before

-he's a huge exhibitionist and wouldnt even slightly lower it after you've came

-i do not think he's the jealous type at all really infact i think he wants to show you off in any way he can and would definitely want to try fucking you infront of people (obviously if you said you weren't comfortable with that he would immediately drop it though)

-his dick is so stupidly big that he has made it a rule that he will always make you cum atleast once or twice before actually fucking you

-despite what fanfics tell you, having a stupidly big dick is not always a good thing, and he would not want to hurt you so hed always make sure you're super prepared

-though he doesnt want to hurt you, he does feel his heart and dick swell a little when he sees how overwhelmed you get at his size, how your eyes roll back and your breathing stop when he pushes into you because holy fuck how is that thing gonna fit all the way in

-put his hand on your lower stomach and pushes down so you can really feel how deep his cock is

-Favorite position: rocking horse, mating press

-Turn ons: exhibitionism, toys, size kink, ropes, spit

-Turn offs: giving heavy degradation, giving heavy amounts of pain

Rafayel:

-the ultimate switch, doesnt have a preference for either

-likes when you edge him while kissing his neck and ears, grabbing his hair in one hand and his dick in the other

-maybe another unpopular opinion but i think rafayel is a mean dom when he gets really into it

-grabs your hair and forces you to watch as his cock absolutely destroys your insides

-enjoys degrading you, calling you a slut, telling you that all you're good for is making him cum, that your only purpose is serving him and making him feel good

-definitely a headpusher when receiving oral

-likes when you slap his ass but would never admit it, its obvious from how red his face gets though

-ok idk if this is too much but if you fingered him while sucking his dick i think he'd cum so hard he dies and ascends to heaven

-you ask to peg him and he's immediately like WHAT no way not happening but is eventually like fineeee (he secretly really wants it)

-cums the second you hit his prostate the first time and then gets immediately embarrassed when you start giggling at his expense

-he just couldn't handle how hot you looked when taking control

-loves when you wear skirts and dresses for easy access bending you over the nearest flat surface so he can just slip himself into you and take you right then and there

-Favorite position: cowgirl, over the counter, 69

-Turn ons: edging, degradation, dubcon, fucking on every surface of his house, your house, an any hotel you guys stay in ever

-Turn offs: being ignored, making him jealous on purpose

Zayne:

-generally kinda submissive but sometimes switches

-i feel like he has 0 experience and also doesnt really masturbate often so probably has a cumming in pants moment with you

-always pulling you into his lap because the feeling of you on top of him drives him absolutely crazy

-his mouth is always on your tits that man is HUNGRY

-would probably never ask for it but if you were to dress up in lingerie and give him a lapdance i think hed be replaying it in his head every single time he touches himself for the rest of eternity

-would never ever degrade you even if you asked i just dont think he'd enjoy it whatsoever

-if you have a praise kink though, hes your guy, he loves calling you his good girl and telling you how sexy you look when you feel good

-likes when you play with his nipples

-enjoys risky sex such as in his office or his car but doesnt actually want to get caught ever, would kiss you to stop you from being too loud

-likes to be completely tied up by you occasionally and to essentially be treated like a sex toy during those times

-if hes already came dont worry about stopping cause hes goes insane when you overstimulate him, would probably start crying because it feels so good he cant believe this is really happening

-heavy groper when doing it, just loves feeling and grabbing every inch of your body

-definitely a brat tamer but not a harsh one, will spank u til ur ass is red but not cause bruises or anything

-Favorite position: cowgirl, lotus, butterfly

-Turn ons: nipple play, lingerie, overstimulation, rolepay, foodplay a little

-Turn offs: degradation, unresponsive partners

[marsmaximoff]

💔; crimson pain -a different kind of blood

content warning: gn!reader who plays as number 028. (dating) angst. mentions of death, financial struggles, vomit, blood and fainting.

word count: 1935. i got a bit too carried away 😬

author’s note: finally, here it is. i’ve had this idea for so long but the universe wasn’t on my side, it seems. i really wanted to post it sooner 🥲. as always, constructive criticism is welcomed, and i apologize for the mistakes (english is my third language). oh, and tysm for the support on the jun-ho headcanons post! what do you mean over 1000 likes? that is insane 🤧🤧. i hope you’ll enjoy this one too. 🩷🩷🩷🩷

the sugary umbrella lays on your shaky hand, under the excruciating yet unmasked gaze of the soldier. once the ‘pass’ is given, you stand up ready to get out of there. “you made it!” the voice of the one that has become the closest thing to a friend you could have in here relaxes you ever so slightly. “i almost didn’t. can’t believe i’m adding umbrellas to my traumas list.” having chosen the hardest doesn't surprise you much, not with unluckiness being a part of your life since you can remember. “well, im just happy you did. i thought the square was simple, but now i feel like we should have just chosen the triangle instead, you know? take a look at the survivors; most of them chose it and….” his words fade as an eerie feeling takes over your body, like something’s wrong. turning around, you’re met with one of them, staring right at you completely stiff, not even holding the weapon, merely some feet away.

“is he looking at us?” he can sense the uneasiness too, it seems. “let’s just go.” you can still feel his unfamiliar gaze on your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

the doors opening break the silence and the rare calmness of the room. “player 028?” your body freezes completely. a stomach drop follows, and your heart rate skyrockets. no. nonono. you’ve done nothing wrong. is it the dalgona? the figure was perfectly carved out; you made sure of it. are they gonna kill you? two soldiers stand by the entrance, waiting. with a final glance at your friend, who is most definitely thinking the same, you reach the pink guards. you don’t even know what to say, should you beg for mercy? try to stay as cooperative as possible? “be quick.” what? the other one grabs your arm and begins to lead you somewhere. “i-i don’t-” your hands are shaking. “please, i didn’t do anything wrong...” begging it is. “keep. walking.” the words are almost a whisper, tho demanding. a hint of desperation can be heard as well. “okay, okay, ok-” wait. why did those words- no. you’re going crazy. it’s just the anxiety, the fear. 

the stranger takes you to the bathrooms and quickly closes the door. you step back. again. and once more. what now? he wouldn’t shoot you here, right? and why the hell does he look so tense? his hands move to his mask and make it disappear, and with it, the remaining bit of sanity you had.

the nausea from a few seconds ago comes back stronger, maybe you will die today. “jun-ho…” your voice is almost unrecognizable, tho a miracle, given the struggle breathing has become. “what are you doing here?” “i could ask you the same thing.” he’s angry, of course he is, but the hurt in his eyes pains you the most. “no….you need to get out of here.” god. you can feel yourself spiraling. nothing makes sense. “i will. and im taking you with me.” “h-how- when did- i-“ cold sweat has completely taken over your palms. “wait….wait. was it you?…. this morning?” he nods. “i found the damn card they gave you at yours and my brother’s house” what? “in-ho…?” why does everything keep getting worse? “have you seen him?” surely you would remember something like that, “n-no. maybe before the first game…..” you heed your legs’ warning to give up and sit down. “why are you doing this? i dont understand.” it’s not like he could. “they let you out. and you didn’t seek me. you hid yourself. again. i had to learn what was going on from a random man at the station. not you!!” silence between you had never felt this suffocating before, nor the atmosphere so uncanny. “don’t you realize how dangerous this is? they are killing innocent people! haven’t you realized?! 79 have died today. just because of a stupid cookie? what do you think you are doing?! you could have gotten yourself killed! you have no idea how worried i’ve been.” you don’t look at him. this shouldn’t be happening, he wasn’t supposed to find out.

“please, honey. this is insane and you know it. let’s get out of this madness.” the change in his tone of voice is evident, bordering the plea. it’s obvious he’s making an effort to remain calm, to use less confrontational comments. “i can’t.” “yes, you can. we’ll leave the same way i got here, don’t worry. no one will see us.” but you really can’t. you know that well. he sighs, “why didnt you tell me? how could you hide something like this from me? i thought we trusted each other.” 

distress seems to have replaced the blood running through your veins. “i would have helped you, always. i can still do it. if you need money, i’ll give it to you, it’s not a problem.” he keeps going after your negative. “i will. we can find another way-” “there isn't.” “of course there is. i have my savings, we’ll use them. i can ask for a raise. mr kim owes me after all this time. and i could do more hours-”

“its not FUCKING ENOUGH!” the sharpness of your words cuts all over his face. pain flows out, dripping a bloody red. more silence. you could drown in it. well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“my parents’ house is gonna get seized.” a burning throat accompanies the confession. “i messed up like crazy.” the expected embarrassment doesn’t show up, instead, regret does. “it’s not your fault.” how can he say that? “it is. i got them into this, I'll get them out.” “and you think risking your life here is the only way to do it? thats not true. god, why didn’t you tell me?” you rub your temple. “that doesn’t matter now. you-you need to get out, all this is suspicious.” you are not only trying to avoid the question, the guards could notice at any moment. “i told them you were gonna throw up.” “vomit or not you’re still in the bathroom with a player.” for some seconds, the only noise that can be heard is the shatter of your heart. “honey, listen to me. your parents wouldn’t want this. they don’t even blame you, im sure. how could they ever wish for something at the expense of their daughter’s life?” but the guilt is too heavy, too imprinted on your mind. “it’s not about me. if it were my house, i wouldn’t care, but it’s theirs. i would never forgive myself for not doing anything.” “and there are so many things you could do that don’t need you participating in some psychopaths’ games! do you really not see how dangerous and demented this is? please leave with me.” “jun-ho. think about it. if i ended up here, even after they gave us a second chance, it’s because i want to. no one forced me, and i’m old enough to know what i’m doing.” your replies are getting colder, which you hate. but it’s the only way to make him understand. “besides, they’re all kids' games. they’re easy.” you can only hope he won’t sense your attempt at self-persuasion. “they are shooting people. you could be dead. and i would have never seen you again, or known what had happened.” the urge to cry gets stronger with every word, to dive into his arms and finally feel some sort of calmness, warmth, love.

“i’m sorry that i hurt you, that i made you worry and feel like i couldn’t trust you. but i won’t apologize for being here.” “i don’t want you to apologize. i only want you to get out of here and not die.” his desperation has increased so much it’s swallowed your own distress. “i’ve already won two, i can make it to the end.” you refute. but you read him easily, he is planning to get you out without your agreement, somehow.

“please.” now it’s you that pleads. “if you love me, let me stay.”

his eyes widen, you see them watering. his heartbreak drowns out yours. you are aware you’ve never said anything as painful before. it hurts. more than anything they could do to you here. perhaps you are already dead. “how can you ask me something like this?” maybe you’re desperate, or too blinded by the blame that’s rotting on your insides. or perhaps it’s love. “get out of here. stay safe. and don’t tell the police, jun-ho. don’t even think about stopping the games. i need this, don’t ruin it.” god you don’t recognize yourself anymore. how nice it would be to go back when things were easy. when remorse didn’t control yourself, and you were happy with him. “what do you expect me to do if you die?” “i won’t” “you can’t know that! how can i let the love of my life risk it all when i know i could do something?” understanding such perspective is effortless. if it were the other way around, you too would act like he is.

you approach him for the first time, god how you craved it. your hands cup his pained yet beautiful face and a tear drops. “i missed you.” he says quietly, unable to stay angry at you for long. “i missed you too.” you answer back, wiping the tear. “i missed your face, your voice, your touch. i miss your kisses.” things already ache enough like this, so you give in. the kiss is soft, so fragile, like a bit more intensity would make it disappear. “i love you.” he whispers resting his forehead on yours. “i love you too.”

a knock on the door destroys the illusion. shit. “lay on the floor.” “what?” “lay on the floor”, he repeats, walking towards the door while putting his mask back on, “and play along.” the door opens and the same voice from earlier speaks. “what do you think you’re doing in there?” may that unluckiness give you a rest for some minutes. “she passed out. she was taking too long and not answering back so i entered and found her unconscious.” footsteps grow louder. “player 028…. i don’t remember any health issues on the file… fuck.” you stay as still as possible, it sounds plausible, given the stress. “take care of it, i’ll let the boss know. and don’t take longer.” with that, he exits the room, and you thank his unwillingness to deal with sensitive issues.

sitting back up, jun-ho kneels to your level. “you look good for a faint.” a hint of a smile appears on your face. “are you mad at me?” “i was. mostly worried. i don’t like this at all.” you grab his gloved hands. “i’ll be okay, believe me.” he doesn’t. he can’t. “please, be careful. and think about it. if you change your mind, i’ll be waiting.” you won’t. you wouldn’t let yourself. but you nod. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i hope you’ll carry that with you. i love you so damn much.” his voice breaks, and you tell yourself it’s time to go back, this conversation can only get more and more devastating for you both. you offer the bleeding and broken pieces of your heart. not meaning to cut him this time. and he takes them. how could he not treasure them? you kiss again. it tastes different this time. like farewell. 

and when you get out of the room, you both know that was the last time you’ll see each other. 

[cjlouwho]

Dear CJ,

I saw your post about needing Tommy bent over a table and I have to say that I too need this and I was wondering if you felt it in your heart to provide your thirsty fans, like me, with some more Bottom!Tommy? I feel you wanting him bent over a table would add to the hotness.

Thank you if you do write it,

Love,

Me!

A new addition to my Spite series! Read below or on ao3

Tommy's not exactly sure how he ended ass up with his face pressed against the dining room table, but it was hard to think of anything with three of Buck's fingers working their way inside of him.

"Uh, uh, uh," he panted, gripping onto the sides of the table as Buck twisted his hand on each thrust. "Ev- Evan, ohyesplease, Evan."

"That feel good, Baby?" Buck asked, his free hand pressing down at the small of Tommy's back.

"Uhhhh, uh-huh." There was a little puddle of drool just below Tommy's mouth. His whole body felt tingly. Cool where it laid against the table, but the rest of him burned like fire in the best way.

"You wanna come on my fingers or my cock?"

"Fuck," Tommy whined, voice just above a whisper. "Fuck. Shit, yeah."

Buck laughed, patting his hand against Tommy's thigh. "Babe, you hear me?"

"Mmm," Tommy pushed himself back on Buck's fingers as he stilled inside of him. "I'll do it. I'll work for it, Evan, yeahyeahyeah."

Once it was clear that Tommy wasn't paying attention to a word Buck was saying, Buck pulled his fingers out of Tommy entirely.

The sound that escaped Tommy's mouth was something akin to a puppy being crate trained. Hands still firmly gripped to the table, he lifted his head enough to look back at Buck.

"What... Why?"

Buck ran his hands up and down Tommy's back, kneading into the muscle. "You weren't listening to me," Buck informed him, leaning down to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. "Wanted to make sure you were still here."

"I'm here, I'm here," Tommy sighed, wiggling his ass against Buck. "What did you want?"

Buck snorted. "I asked if you wanna come on my fingers or my cock."

"Cock, I- I want your cock, please," Tommy pled. "Put it in me, come in me, make it drip down my legs."

"Fuck, Tommy." Buck grabbed the lube off the table and slicked up his cock before holding onto Tommy's hips and lining himself up.

He was gonna go slow, but Tommy had other plans. The second he felt the head of Buck's cock inside him, he pushed back until Buck was all the way in.

"Fuck!" Buck exclaimed, nearly coming right then and there. "Shit, Tommy, you're really desperate for it, aren't you?"

Tommy managed to hold onto the table tight enough to pull up and give himself some leverage. He used that leverage to begin working himself up and down Buck's cock. "For you," he replied, his own cock dripping with precum, "Always."

[redocity]

18) fucking in the bar bathroom and being too drunk to care about being quiet for the redoliday sleepover please??

i’m thinking post!tommy buck reverting to buck 1.0 to stop himself from calling tommy again (fem!reader please)

𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 — 𝐄.𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐘

18) fucking in the bar bathroom and being too drunk to care about being quiet

3) depression sex in order to feel something good for once

evan buckley x fem!reader | 2.1k | smut | masterlist.

WARNINGS | THIS POST IS 18+ MDNI, semi-public sex, unprotected piv, both the reader and buck are heavily intoxicated, bathroom sex, one night stand, buck and reader don’t know each other’s names, rebound sex (for buck)

𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝐤𝟐𝟒 !!

a/n — i combined these two asks bc it felt right to me, hope that’s okay !!

Buck was not feeling it tonight.

Being dragged to a bar by the team for a night out whilst he’s still knee-deep in trying to social distance from his phone so he doesn’t call Tommy was an actual nightmare.

He needed a distraction, yes, but being surrounded by horny couples all over each other wasn’t exactly helping.

That’s about when he started drinking.

Buck wasn't just drinking. He was throwing them back. Tequila, whiskey, a beer or two—it was a reckless concoction, but the buzz creeping through his veins was exactly what he needed. It dulled the ache in his chest, the one he was desperately trying to smother with alcohol and fleeting distractions—but not enough to drown out the thoughts of Tommy completely.

He hated this. Hated how every drink brought his face back into focus instead of erasing it. Hated how every laugh in the bar sounded just a little like his. And, most of all, hated how the team was doing everything they could to make sure he wasn’t alone with his phone long enough to text him.

It wasn’t like he wanted to call Tommy. He knew that was a bad idea. But the temptation sat in his pocket, a constant reminder that he wasn’t his anymore, no matter how many times he unlocked his phone and stared at his number.

“Buck,” Hen said, sliding into the stool next to him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not thinking about what I think you’re thinking about, are you?”

He scoffed, knocking back another drink and ignoring the way his jaw tightened at the question. “I’m thinking about how terrible your taste in bars is, actually. Who even picked this place?”

Hen narrowed her eyes but let it slide. “Alright, Buckaroo. Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay? I’m watching you.”

The implication was clear, and Buck gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

But the second Hen turned her attention back to the others, Buck’s gaze shifted. He scanned the crowd, looking for something—someone—to drown out the noise in his head. And that’s when he spotted it.

You were leaning against the bar, laughing at something the bartender said, and the sight hit Buck like a gut punch. You weren’t doing anything special, just existing, but there was something about the way your smile lit up the room that pulled him in.

So he did what past him did best: turned off his brain and turned up the charm.

Without thinking, Buck pushed off his stool and made his way toward you.

“Hey,” he said, flashing a grin that was a little too confident for someone who’d just downed several drinks. “I don’t know if it’s the lighting in here, or if you’re just naturally this stunning, but you’re kind of making the rest of us look bad.”

You looked up, surprised but amused by his approach. “Smooth. Is that your go-to line?”

Buck chuckled, leaning against the bar beside you. “Only when it works.”

You smile, and all of Buck’s inhibitions disappear.

“You gonna buy me a drink then?”

That was all the invitation he needed.

—

It didn’t take long for things to escalate. Between the shots and the shameless flirting, the two of you were a ticking time bomb. Buck was leaning closer, his hands brushing against yours, and when you laughed at one of his jokes, it felt like a victory.

By the time he pulled you toward the bathroom, you were too drunk to care about the way people stared—or the fact that you didn’t even know his name yet.

The door slammed shut behind you, and Buck was on you in an instant, his lips crashing against yours in a messy, heated kiss. His hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize every curve, every inch of skin, and you couldn’t get enough of him.

“You’re trouble,” you muttered against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Mm, probably,” he agreed, mouthing his way down your neck.

His body was pressed against yours, one hand on your hip as the other explored your body.

He needed tonight. To stop and just have fun for once.

His teeth nipped along your collarbone and his hot breath against your skin sent a shiver down your spine.

His hand roamed, his palm trailing over your stomach and moving higher to cup your breast.

He squeezed gently and your breath hitched.

He took it as an encouragement to continue, his thumb rolling across one harden nipple through the fabric of your dress.

“No bra,” he murmured, his lips at your ear. “Naughty.”

He pressed his hips against you, one of his legs pushing between your own and rubbing against your core through your underwear.

You gasped in response, your head falling back as he continued to explore your body, one hand drifting down to grasp your bare thigh, lifting your leg up so it hooked around his hip.

He ground himself into you and a low moan escaped his lips, his head dropping forward to rest on your shoulder. “Jesus,” he muttered, his voice slightly winded.

You tugged on his hair, angling his head up so you could kiss him again. You didn’t want to talk to him, and you definitely didn’t have the patience to.

Buck pushed you against the sink, pinning you between the cold metal and his hard body while he explored your mouth with his tongue like he was a starving man and you were his meal.

His hands roamed, tracing heated trails over your skin, pushing under the hem of your dress.

He needed more, more of you.

One of his hands slid up your inner thigh, under your dress, and towards the heat he felt there, the other tugging harshly at his belt.

He managed to get his pants undone, with a little bit of struggle with his inhibited coordination, the zipper loud in the otherwise silent bathroom as the demon hit the floor.

He pushed your dress further up, lifting it over your hips as he tried to make it easier to access you, breaking the kiss only so he could concentrate on what he was doing, his breath ragged as he tugged your underwear to the side.

He glanced down to admire the way you were presented to him, like a perfectly wrapped gift, and he groaned.

His eyes were dark when he looked back up at your face, and he leaned in close to you. “I’m going to ruin you,” he murmured against your lips.

It’d been so long since he’d had anyone like this, a meaningless hookup in a bar with so much alcohol running through his system he felt lightheaded.

He needed this, this feeling of being in control of something in his life when everything else was so screwed up. He needed to bury himself in you and just forget.

With a few precursors pumps of his cock, buck lined himself up with you and slowly started to sink into what he knew would be a much needed release.

He’d been hard since you’d given him the once over and he was desperate for it, to finally find some kind of relief for the loneliness he’d been feeling lately.

His hips pushed deep, trying to fill the aching void inside of him. The need to forget his loneliness for a few hours. And god were your moans helping him forget.

Once he’d bottomed out he set a brutal pace, hips slamming into yours, the tile of the restroom wall cool against your bare back. He didn’t have the dignity to be nice, not tonight.

His hands were rough on your skin, almost to the point of pain, but there was a certain comfort in it. His head dipped, lips sucking and nipping at any stretch of skin he could reach.

He shifted, tugging on the underside of your thighs to change the angle slightly, and a harsh moan slipped past your lips. He’d hit a sensitive spot, and you arched into him, your body shivering.

He let out a soft noise of his own, his pace unrelenting, and his mouth returned to your neck. He nipped and sucked at the expanse of skin, the sounds of his hips slapping into yours and your gasps echoing loudly in the small bathroom.

He could taste the salt on your skin, the alcohol still on your lips, and it just made him want more.

He needed to get closer, to just bury himself into your tight heat and never come up for air. He didn’t want to think about the outside world, about how much he’d screwed up his life lately.

He just wanted to lose himself in you.

He shifted, his arm hooking under your knee so he could angle your hips up, pressing your thigh to your chest.

He could go deeper like this, and god did he want to go deeper.

You arched into him, your breaths coming out in small pants as he drove you mindless with pleasure.

He was everywhere, his body hard and warm against yours, his lips and teeth hot against your skin, the sound of his breath in your ear.

It was all too much and yet not enough, and you whimpered, needing more of anything and everything he was giving you.

Your nails bit into his back, hands scrambling for purchase on his skin. You tried to pull him closer, to get him even deeper into you and he obliged, his pace quickening and his hips snapping against yours.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he let out a strangled moan. His body trembled against you, the pressure in his stomach building, and he could feel his restraint fraying.

He was close, and he needed to find his release.

His hips started to go jerky, rhythm faltering, his arms wrapping tightly around you to pull you closer, his body tense all over as he tried to hold himself back.

He bit down on your shoulder, the sensation sending a shock through your body.

“God, I need to come—” he panted into your ear.

He was so close, hanging right on the edge, but he needed you to fall first.

“Need you to come first,” he said, his voice thick.

He buried his face against your neck, his hands roaming over your body, one of them slipping between you to find the sensitive bundle of nerves that he knew would help urge you along.

He knew he was good at this, that he knew what he was doing. He was good with his hands and his mouth and his words, knew all the ways to make a woman lose control.

He found your clit easily, knowing you were probably already close, just needed a bit of a push.

He could feel it in the tremble of your body, the way you kept letting out these little sounds that were driving him wild, how your hand was gripping his hair to the point he was sure it was going to hurt when he left.

And the clench. God the way you tightened around him made him feel dizzy.

And then it was a gush, solidified with a heavy breath and your legs trembling in the aftershock.

“God, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he panted as he slowly withdrew from you.

He took his weight off of you by planting one arm next to your head, his head dropping to bury itself in the crook of your neck, his breathing still heavy and uneven as he finished himself off with his hand.

He didn’t know how messy he’d made either of you, and at that moment, he was a little too blissed out to care.

He just hoped that whoever owned this bathroom knew how to clean it properly.

He stood unmoving against you for several moments while he caught his breath, trying to process what had just happened.

—

“Uh, guys?” Chimney strides over to stand between Eddie and Hen, eyebrows furrowed in a line that looked harsher underneath the dim lighting. “We lost Buck—”

[strngegirl]

hii i really loved ur gojo: overtime drabble, can i req something similar with gojo but instead of us giving him a handjob he gives us one😞😞 idk if u write for male readers but if you do please do so!!

hellooo!! im happy you liked that post :DD nd i dont usually write for male readers but i would! so here it isss (⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠) i hope it's satisfying enough </3 this is kinda rushed ,,,

cw: gojo x very tired m!reader, very aggressive handjob (reader receiving), cum eating (gojo), both are ordinary office workers, unestablished relationship, reader kinda hates gojo, not proofread

It's currently 9 PM and you still haven't gone home yet. You would if you could, but that's the thing; you couldn't.

Your boss dumped a whole stack of work onto your desk last minute, said something about having no one else to do this for, then proceeded to leave without sparing you a second glance. The cruelty of this goddamn country and its corporate workplace rules has you daydreaming about blowing the whole place up. Alas, you couldn't. There'd be more consequences doing that, so you decided to simply do your job like a good, loyal mutt. If you even want to call yourself that.

What's even worse is that, you're alone within the same vicinity as Gojo Satoru.

It's not like he's the boss that dumped all his work onto you, he's just another worker in this god forsaken office whom the boss hates—but you hate him even more. Born rich and yet he chose to work here, everyone likes his magnetic personality, he always wears designer, and he's fucking hot. It's infuriating how he has it all and yet he's here in the marketing department of a shitty company that's teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. What does he even gain from this? "Experienced being a peasant" on his resume?

He's currently in the cubicle right across from you, and you're not even sure why he's here. He's been humming trending songs that kept playing in stores for the past few hours and giggling at something you don't really wanna know. Can't he see you're literally suffering working overtime?!

You narrow your eyes at the scintillating screen, the only source of light in the dark office alongside the table lamp you turned on three hours ago. Gojo laughs at something and you clench your teeth, trying to will yourself to not react to his disruptions because you just want to get these over with and go straight home and sleep. It was going so well until he started to talk to himself, then the already thinning string of restraint snapped.

"That happened? No way. Crazy-"

"Can you shut the fuck up?" You growl, a hand running down your face as the other grip your mouse so hard your knuckles are whitening.

There was a moment of silence where both of you say nothing, and honestly you're starting to relax a little at the upcoming tranquility that you thought would arrive, but as quickly as it had came, it went.

You see Gojo's white hair slowly appearing at the top of your vision, and you lift your head to look at him. He's currently looking over your cubicle with an impassive expression, those azure eyes staring right down at you beneath his shades like he's judging you for something you didn't do.

"You talking to me?" He asks.

"Is there anybody else in here that's been yapping all fucking night?" You deadpan. Something about what you've said must've been funny, because he starts smiling. God, that's straight up aggravating.

He lifts his arms up to support himself as he leans onto the partition, making it creak under the weight of his pressure. The old thing's gonna break. You hope it doesn't. If he crashes down and crushes your computer, you swear you're losing it.

"You're so mean tonight, man. Can't you go back to throwing me nasty glares instead? I like those better." He pouts mockingly at you, which grates on your nerves even further. Your work is forgotten as you currently just want to snap at him.

"Why are you even here? Seriously. You don't even need to work overtime, no one is forcing you to do their work you can just go back to your fucking penthouse and sleep like I've been wanting to for the last few hours. I'm tired, hungry and I seriously can't stand wearing this goddamn suit for another minute. All I want is some peace and quiet and yet, you're there, doing god knows what and breaking the only good thing I have right now." Your voice rises at every syllable that leaves your lips, and once you finish you take a deep inhale, feeling your body heat up from unleashing your frustration. You look back up at him and all you see is a raise of an eyebrow.

Gojo brushes a strand of hair away from his eyes then slowly starts to bob his head, unfolding his arms and clapping them onto your partition.

"Ooookay. Well, I'm here for you, actually." It's your turn to raise an eyebrow at that. "Don't. Not yet. Let me explain."

He disappears back into his own cubicle for a second, before you hear the pitter-patter of his footsteps approaching your cubicle. He stops at the entrance and leans against it, both hands simultaneously tucked into his pockets.

"I wanted to talk to you."

You blink.

"And we couldn't have talked in the morning or afternoon?"

He smiles a little. "Mmh, no. It's... Personal, and I'd rather we don't have any interruptions."

Now you're kinda curious. Pushing your one-sided hatred for him aside, you turn your chair to fully face him as you inquire him with a questioning stare.

"Anyways," he pulls his hands out and clasps them with a clap. "I know you hate me. And it's probably because of my dazzling appearance and charming antics that have half the office swooning over me"—you roll your eyes at that—"but! I don't want you to hate me."

You scoff at that. Does he just want everyone to love him? Is that it? So there'd be more people at his beck and call?

"I don't want to turn into one of your fans, Gojo." You rub your eyes.

"That's not my goal! Swear." Suddenly, he walks over and places both hands onto the handles of your chair and effectively caging you in, the abrupt proximity prompting you to lean back so fast your head spins for a second. His face is mere inches away from yours, as if silently threatening to kiss you.

The intimate way he's looking at you right now is making you feel a cacophony of things you're not sure what to name. You're sure annoyance is in there somewhere, but also mixed with other things you seriously don't want to acknowledge. No, it's mostly surprise.

"What the fuck are you-"

"I like you more than I should, you know." He murmurs, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. "No one else in the office looks at me the way you do. It's fascinating."

Surprise washes over you when he gets closer, the warmth of his breath fanning over your lips. It has to be the lethargy you're feeling right now, because why does kissing him seem so tempting?

Your lips suddenly feel dry, and the moment you dart your tongue out to wet it, you inadvertently lick his lips. He took that as a sign to crash his lips into yours. It was all bumping teeth, tongue biting and sloppy kisses, one that overwhelms your clouded mind. He puts more of his weight on you, causing the chair you're sitting on to roll back before it inevitably bumps into the partition, causing it to tremble slightly. That doesn't deter him from continuing to ravish your mouth.

You don't understand why you're not stopping him. In reality, you should be hating this. Hating him. But somehow, you're actually liking it. The realization sends shivers down your spine.

You hardly register what's happening, and next thing you know, you feel a sudden breeze brush past your tip. You yelp in surprise as your lips break off of his, causing him to promptly stop as well. Your eyes dart down to find he's already pulled your half-erect cock out of your pants, his hand wrapping a fist around your base. You snap your gaze back to his flushed face, a hint of eagerness in those eyes you used to despise but now desire to drink you in.

"Don't wanna?" He breathes, already loosening his grip on your cock. You instantly reach down to keep his grip there, manually making him re-tighten his grip. There's a newfound spark in his eyes, and the speed in which he suddenly starts stroking your cock gives you an immediate whiplash.

His lips meet yours again, the same hunger and fervor mixed with a heightened passion combined with the unrelenting pace in which he jerks you off, you swear your head is about to burst. The chair underneath you creaks so loudly you think it's about to crumble, but you hardly care when he's pleasuring you so fucking well.

Breathy moans escape from your mouth as Gojo drinks it all up, capturing them into his own mouth as he whimpers himself. He's fisting your cock like he wants to tear it off and you feel like it really is gonna fall off if you're not careful enough.

The air in the otherwise empty office has become heated, the serenity broken by both of your moans and the aggressive creak of your chair. You feel your cock twitch at the impending orgasm, and he definitely feels it as well because he starts chuckling into your heated make out session.

"Feels soooooo good, doesn't it?" He purrs, almost teasingly but there's no denying the underlying desire in his tone. You nod fervently as you start to thrash in your chair, and Gojo brings his other hand up to pin you down by the shoulder to ensure you can't get anywhere.

With a sudden cry, you jerk up repeatedly into his fist as hot cum spurt out of your tip, getting everywhere on his suit and hand. He doesn't really care though, because this might be the hottest thing he's seen all week. Gojo slows down his stroking before eventually stopping, just holding it firmly before his thumb moves to gently rub your sensitive head, smearing the cum over it. That action overstimulates you and you start whimpering, eyes rolling back at the slight pain it brings you.

"Such a mess." He murmurs, gazing almost lovingly at you. Slowly, he releases your cock as you let out a gasp, acting like you just ran a whole marathon. He brings the very same hand up to his lips as he starts to lick it clean, his tongue caressing through every crevice, trying to make sure he tastes every single last drop. You watch in a daze, watching the man you were despising toward not even three hours ago now licking your sperm off of his hand. He's the reason you even came.

God.

Gojo sucked on his index finger, making direct eye contact with you. He then releases it with a salacious 'pop!', bringing his head down again and kisses you. You taste the slight tang of your own release on his tongue and fuck, you think your dick is rising again.

"Do you still hate me?" He breathes into your mouth. You'd glare if you can, but you seriously can't bring yourself to. Your body is spent as hell.

Reluctantly, you shake your head and he smiles widely. Gojo Satoru got what he wanted, once again.

"Finally." He kisses you again. "Come home with me. Fuck your work, I'll talk to the boss for you tomorrow. I wanna fuck you."

You shouldn't. Damn, this goes against everything you believe in.

"I have a memory foam mattress. Silky blankets. And also really, really soft pillows."

...he sure knows how to tempt you. Fucking Gojo.

With a defeated sigh, you gently rub your cheek, hoping the red would go away.

"Okay."

[mcrdvcks]

okay, so when i first saw this posted i couldn't wait to read it... but it was like the week before thanksgiving and i had two midterms and even more assignments due so i put it off. but now, i've finally had time to read this and it was well worth the wait!

so, here we go, it's gonna be a bit long so just work with me (this is my version of highlighting on my kindle)

“Doesn’t look like she wants to talk,” Logan replied, glancing at the door. His fists clenched instinctively. The thought of this guy forcing his way in, disturbing her, made his blood boil. “So maybe you should take the hint and get lost.”

i don't care if this trope is 'overdone' because it's gets me all giggly when a character is protective over someone, especially when they're so strong about consent. (no means no dude!)

The guy didn’t budge, his face twisting with frustration. “You’re being unreasonable. This is all because of that stupid job, isn’t it? You think you’re too good for me now, huh?”

i could be reading into this, but could she be the journalist? (i read too many mystery books as a child.) i'm writing notes as i read so i'm not sure yet

She took a breath, exhaling slowly as she glanced away, her jaw clenched. “You don’t get it, do you?” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Guys like you think you’re doing me a favor, stepping in, trying to… ‘protect’ me. But all you’re doing is making me feel like I can’t handle my own life. Like I’m weak. And I’m not.”

this hit hard, because while i would like to believe if a man like logan had taken to protect me, in real life i'd probably be more like this. i love how reader, though shy, stands up for herself!

“Oh,” she said quietly, a forced, brittle smile tugging at her lips. “So… what? I only look beautiful when I’m dressed up? When I’m… like this?”

a-are you in my room? in my head?? please get out because this is absolutely something i would feel (and have felt before). it does hurt when the only time someone makes a nice comment is when your dolled up and not when you feel most like you.

Logan could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, the urge to step outside and tell this guy to back off building with each word. But he held himself in check, forcing himself to stay silent, to let her handle it. She didn’t need him barging in like some kind of white knight, as much as he wanted to.

the fact that logan actually listened to what she said and followed through, letting her handle it? that's a real man.

Sanctuary - Part One

Logan and Wade are sent by Stryker to find a journalist who has been digging around trying to expose Team X. Logan isn't prepared when he meets an intriguing neighbor causing him to question himself and the mission.

origins logan howlett x fem!reader - team x mission, shy reader, no y/n, she/her pronouns used instead of you, logan's pov, origins wade, awkwardness, guarded feelings, angst, AU, crushes, logan kinda being a stalker, stryker and victor cameos, fighting, cussing, wade being a good friend, reserved logan

a/n: Okay buckle up because this is a long author’s note but when do i not make an essay? I’m an origins girlie and will find any excuse to write about origins logan (it was the first fic i wrote) so here we are with another one. Idk if this makes sense—maybe it’s an AU where logan just works with team x but somehow doesn’t go through the weapon x program idk, okay. It started as a one shot of shy reader (the club scene) then ended up becoming the longest thing i have ever written for logan. I’ve been working on it for the past 2…maybe 3 weeks and yeah…finally posting it after editing it. I was gonna make it a sad, angsty ending but i can’t do it, i just can’t. Logan deserves happy endings. P.s. it’s from logan’s POV that’s why it’s she/her pronouns instead of you. I’m used to writing in third person (creative writing major here) but for fics i usually do second person but here i just wanted to do something different. So sue me.

apparently this is too long to post in one go so here's part one and here's part two

word count: 40k

divider credit: @enchanthings

Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the endless stream of chatter pouring from Wade’s mouth. It was like trying to drown out the buzz of a fly that just wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Logan?” Wade’s voice cut through the humid night air like a blade.

“Wade, for the love of God, shut up,” Logan muttered, low and gruff. “I can’t hear anything if you keep flappin’ your damn jaw.”

Across the street, neon lights flickered on the facade of a rundown bar, casting fractured shadows over a row of grime-slicked windows above. The air smelled of stale beer and gasoline, tinged with a hint of rot. Logan took a deep breath, focusing, scanning for any sign of their target—the journalist who’d gotten too curious about things he had no business knowing.

Wade just rolled his eyes, unfazed by Logan’s irritation. “I was just trying to tell you…that’s our guy,” he said, nodding towards a short, nervous-looking man slipping into the front door of the apartment building above the bar. The man’s hands were shoved deep in his coat pockets, head down, moving quickly, like he wanted to be invisible.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. Something about the guy didn’t feel right. But they didn’t have much else to go on, and he didn’t have the patience to argue with Wade right now.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He gestured for Wade to follow, and they crossed the street, dodging a couple of potholes filled with oily rainwater. The entryway smelled even worse up close like someone had left a pile of garbage to rot right inside the door.

Inside, the dim hallway was narrow and claustrophobic, with walls covered in peeling, faded wallpaper that might have once been green. Logan’s steps were silent, practiced—Wade’s, not so much. His boots thudded against the cracked linoleum as he craned his neck, looking around like a tourist on his first big-city adventure.

They found the apartment number and pushed their way in, catching the man off guard as he fumbled to pull a sandwich out of a paper bag. He dropped it with a startled yelp, hands flying up in surrender, eyes wide and terrified.

His voice came out in a high, trembling squeak. “L-look, I don’t want any trouble! I can give you money—I swear, I don’t have much, but—”

Wade cocked his head, raising a skeptical brow. “Money? Oh, sweetheart, we’re not here for money.” He let the word drip like honey, and the man flinched. Wade leaned in, studying the man like he was an insect pinned to a board. “You don’t know anything about Team X?”

The man’s face went pale, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. He shook his head frantically, words spilling out in a stammered mess. “N-no, I swear—I’m just an accountant, alright? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Team…what? I’ve never even heard of it.”

Logan stood back, watching the guy’s every twitch, every dart of his eyes. Fear had a way of squeezing the truth out of people, and this guy looked like he was about to come apart at the seams. Logan’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring slightly. He caught Wade’s eye and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. The poor bastard was clean—just some pencil pusher in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Wade’s grin only widened a slow, wicked curve that made Logan’s stomach sink. He recognized that look: Wade had just had one of his bright ideas.

Wade clapped the accountant on the shoulder, making the man jump. “Well, congrats, pal. You’ve just saved yourself from a world of hurt. But I gotta ask—you like it here?” He gestured around the dingy apartment, where the wallpaper was peeling into long, damp strips and the faint odor of mildew hung in the air. “Nice digs. Bet the landlord’s a gem.”

The accountant blinked, looking from Wade to Logan in bewilderment as if he was just realizing they weren’t here to kill him. “Uh…I guess? I mean, it’s not the worst place I’ve lived.” 

“Perfect.” Wade snapped his fingers, eyes lighting up like a kid who’d just been handed a new toy.

Logan shot Wade a warning look. “Wade. Don’t even start.”

Wade ignored him, snapping his fingers again as if he’d just solved world hunger. “Think about it, Logan. We get a lease here. Set up a cozy little base. I’ll bring a lava lamp, we’ll order takeout, and we can scope out every last tenant till we find this guy. Like fishing, but in an apartment building.”

Logan scowled, crossing his arms. “You’re saying we go through the hassle of a rental application. Background checks. And wait.”

“Come on, think of it as blending in! Imagine us as friendly neighborhood roommates, huh?” Wade slapped him on the shoulder, a little too enthusiastically. “We can get to know the neighbors. Borrow a cup of sugar. You’ll look adorable in an apron.”

Logan let out a low growl, but he could see Wade wouldn’t let it go. They were running out of options, and if this journalist were smart, he’d be laying low. A bit of patience might be the only way to catch him off guard.

“Fine,” he muttered, the word tasting bitter. “But if you so much as mention lava lamps again, I’m throwing you out the window.”

Wade’s grin was all teeth. “Deal. Now let’s go talk to the landlord. You want to do the talking, or should I?” He turned back to the accountant, clapping him on the shoulder again. “Thanks for the inspiration, buddy. Now, if you don’t mind, we’ll just let ourselves out.”

The accountant sank onto his couch, looking dazed, still clutching his sandwich like it was a life preserver. Logan followed Wade to the door, shaking his head. Somehow, he knew this stakeout was going to be the longest assignment of his life.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

“Well, Stryker isn’t happy,” Wade was saying, his voice an incessant buzz in the background. “But when is that dude ever happy? I feel bad for his wife—assuming she exists. Maybe he just clones himself a girlfriend every year. Could you imagine? ‘Sorry, honey, I’ll be home late tonight, gotta send a couple of mutants to—’”

Logan ignored Wade’s rambling as he surveyed their new “home.” Calling it a dump would’ve been generous. The wallpaper was peeling, a thick layer of grime coated the windows, and the faint smell of mildew seeped out from behind the walls. They were at least lucky enough to have separate rooms, but even with a door to shut Wade out, Logan doubted he’d get much peace.

“Did he give you any more information?” Logan finally cut in, hoping Wade might actually have something useful.

Wade blinked, as if surprised that Logan was listening. “About the journalist?”

Logan clenched his teeth. “No—of course about the fucking journalist. Like what the guy might look like, or any other detail that could help us find him?”

Wade shrugged, completely unfazed by Logan’s irritation. “Nope. Stryker was being vague again. Just the usual cryptic bullshit. I swear, the dude is losing it. First, he sends us out here to find some mystery man—”

Logan rolled his eyes, tuning Wade out. They’d been here for a week now, trawling through this run-down building and questioning almost every unlucky soul who happened to live here, and they were no closer to finding their target than when they’d started. Stryker hadn’t given them much to go on, which only made Logan suspect that there was more to this mission than he was letting on.

Finally, Logan couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair and headed for the door. “I’ll be back,” he muttered over his shoulder, already halfway out.

Wade called after him. “Where are you going? Got a hot date?”

Logan didn’t dignify that with an answer. He took the stairs down two at a time, feeling a grim sense of relief as he stepped outside and let the cool night air hit him. The bar below their building wasn’t much better than the apartment—it was dim, grimy, and smelled faintly of stale beer and spilled whiskey. But at least it was quiet.

He pushed open the door and made his way inside, hoping he might get a few moments to himself, maybe even a drink strong enough to dull the ever-present headache that came with dealing with Wade.

The place was nearly empty, just a few regulars hunched over the bar and a lone woman sitting in a booth near the back. Logan’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than he meant to. She looked…out of place. Pretty, in a way that seemed wasted on a hole like this. 

She was sitting alone in a corner booth, a book propped open in front of her. Her hair fell over her face as she read, strands catching in the dim light, and she seemed oblivious to the world around her. There was a quiet stillness about her, a kind of focused calm that didn’t quite fit in a bar like this. Logan found himself wondering what a woman like her was doing here, in a place that looked like it had seen one too many bar fights and smelled like it.

For a moment, he debated going over, then caught himself. Not here to make friends, he reminded himself. Still, his gaze kept drifting back to her, curiosity nagging at him. She didn’t look like the regulars in this place—she was younger, softer, with a certain self-contained reserve that drew him in despite himself.

Maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe it was the exhaustion of the past week catching up to him, but before he knew it, he’d grabbed his glass and walked over to her booth.

She looked up, eyes widening slightly as he approached. Logan stopped just short of her table, suddenly aware of how rough he must look after days on the road, stubble shadowing his jaw, his clothes rumpled and worn. He cleared his throat.

“Mind if I sit?” His voice was softer than he intended, and he cursed himself for feeling the slightest bit nervous.

She hesitated, then gave a small nod, closing her book. Up close, he could see the way her eyes flicked over him, assessing but cautious. She didn’t say anything—just looked at him, as if waiting for him to explain why he’d interrupted her quiet.

“You live upstairs?” he asked, nodding toward the ceiling. He thought he might’ve seen her in the hallway when he and Wade moved in, but he hadn’t paid much attention at the time.

“Down the hall,” she said softly, her voice barely carrying over the dull hum of the jukebox. “I saw you moving in yesterday. You and…your friend.”

Logan almost chuckled at that. Wade was a lot of things, but “friend” was stretching it. “Yeah, sorry about him. He’s…a handful.”

A hint of a smile tugged at her lips, a glimmer of amusement that made him feel just a little less like a stranger in a strange place. “I noticed.”

He found himself studying her face—the slight curve of her smile, the way her fingers toyed with the edge of her book as if part of her mind was still half in whatever story she’d been reading. Something about her felt…steady. Centered. It was a quality he’d rarely seen in anyone.

“Logan,” he said, finally offering his name, though he didn’t expect her to care.

She nodded, meeting his gaze for a fraction of a second longer than he’d expected. “Nice to meet you, Logan.”

Silence settled between them, not quite uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken questions. He could sense she wasn’t the type to pry, but there was a curiosity in her eyes like she was trying to figure him out, just as he was with her.

After a beat, she lifted her book slightly, an invitation for him to leave her in peace. But instead of moving, Logan found himself asking, “What’re you reading?”

She blinked, a bit surprised, then held up the cover for him to see—a worn paperback mystery novel. The kind where the hero always catches the killer but loses something in the process. 

He smirked. “Not exactly light reading for a place like this.”

She shrugged, a hint of a smile returning. “I like the quiet here…and usually nobody bothers me.”

“Well, guess I’m breaking that rule,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She didn’t seem bothered. She just looked at him with those steady, curious eyes, and for a moment, he forgot about the mission, about the dirty apartment upstairs, about Wade’s grating voice. Here, in this booth, in this shitty bar, with a quiet woman and a book, he felt…still.

The moment shattered when he heard Wade’s voice behind him, loud and smug. “Already making friends, huh? Didn't know you had it in you, Logan.”

Logan tensed, jaw tightening as he glanced over his shoulder. Wade was leaning against the bar with that insufferable smirk, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself. Logan shot him a look that could have peeled paint.

“Mind your own business, Wade,” he growled, then turned back to her, keeping his voice softer. “Thanks for letting me sit.”

She nodded, her expression as calm and unreadable as before, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes—amusement, maybe, or curiosity. It was hard to tell. She watched him as he stood, and he found himself hesitating, not quite ready to break whatever strange, quiet connection had settled between them.

Wade wasn’t about to let it linger. “Come on, Romeo,” he called, grinning as he gestured for Logan to follow. “We’ve got stuff to do, remember? Or did you forget in all the charming small talk?”

Logan clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to punch the smirk off Wade’s face. Instead, he gave her one last look—a silent apology or a promise to be less of a stranger next time. But her gaze remained steady, unreadable, as he turned to go.

As he walked past Wade, he grabbed him by the shoulder, steering him roughly toward the door. “Let’s go,” he muttered.

Wade snickered, clearly enjoying the opportunity to needle him. “Touchy, touchy. Guess you do have a heart under all that grumpiness.”

Logan ignored him, shoving Wade ahead and out the door, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was leaving something unfinished. Her image stayed in his mind—the way she’d watched him with those curious eyes, her quiet presence a balm in a week filled with noise and chaos. He didn’t know what it was about her that tugged at him, but he knew it wasn’t something he could explain, even to himself.

Once they were back on the street, Wade was still talking, filling the night air with his usual nonsensical commentary. Logan barely heard him. His mind was elsewhere, replaying that brief encounter in the dimly lit booth. He’d come down to the bar for a moment of peace, maybe a clue, maybe just a strong drink. He hadn’t expected to find…whatever that was.

But there was no time to dwell on it. They had a job to do, and he’d be damned if he let Wade screw it up.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan was screwed. Ever since that brief encounter in the bar, she’d been wedged in his mind like a splinter he couldn’t dig out. He’d catch himself lying on the worn-out couch in the apartment, tuning out Wade’s endless chatter and focusing instead on the faint sounds of her footsteps from down the hall.

She lived across the hall, exactly three doors down. He knew that much, even though he hadn’t seen her again since that night. She didn’t come or go often, and when she did, it was only for short trips—a few minutes out, then back to the quiet solitude of her apartment. 

Logan found himself straining his heightened senses to catch any trace of her: the click of her door, the soft pad of her feet against the hallway carpet, even the faint murmur of her voice when she spoke on the phone. It was insane. He didn’t know the first thing about her, but somehow she’d settled under his skin.

Fuck, he thought, running a hand over his face. I’m a damn stalker.

He tried to shake it off, forcing himself to focus on the mission, but the building felt too cramped, the walls too thin, and her presence was always just out of reach. Wade, of course, noticed Logan’s distraction and was more than happy to exploit it.

“So, when are you gonna introduce me to your girlfriend?” Wade quipped one morning, sprawled across the armchair with his feet propped up on the coffee table. “Or are you just gonna keep sulking around, hoping she magically falls into your lap?”

Logan shot him a glare. “She’s not my girlfriend, Wade.”

“Oh, sure,” Wade drawled, smirking. “That’s why you’ve been lying here for the last three hours, sniffing the air like a bloodhound every time she walks past. I swear, you’re worse than a teenager.”

Logan clenched his fists, jaw tight. He’d deny it if he could, but Wade had a point, and it grated on him. He needed an excuse—a real reason to cross paths with her again, something that wouldn’t make him look like a complete creep.

Wade, apparently sensing an opportunity to meddle, sat up with a grin. “Tell you what, old man. How about you make yourself useful and take our laundry down to the laundromat? You look like you could use a walk, maybe clear your head a bit.” He tossed a balled-up shirt at Logan’s face.

Logan caught it, growling. “Since when do you do laundry?”

“Since never. But I’m feeling generous,” Wade said, smirking as he dropped a bundle of clothes into a bag and shoved it at Logan. “Besides, who knows? Maybe you’ll run into someone interesting while you’re there. Just a thought.”

Logan snatched the bag, too annoyed to argue, and stalked out of the apartment. The morning was cool, the sky overcast, and the streets were quiet as he made his way down to the laundromat which was across the street from the apartment.

He told himself he was only doing it to get Wade off his back—but he couldn’t deny the faint flicker of anticipation at the thought of seeing her again.

The laundromat was nearly empty when he pushed open the door, the dull hum of washing machines filling the air. And there she was, sitting on a cracked plastic chair near the back, a book open on her lap, her brow furrowed in concentration. She didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in her reading, a strand of hair falling over her face as she turned a page.

Logan froze, his grip tightening around the bag of clothes. Get it together, he told himself, forcing his feet to move as he made his way to an empty machine a few steps away from her. He tossed the clothes in, doing his best to look casual, though he could feel his heart thumping harder than it should.

After a moment, he glanced her way, watching the way her eyes skimmed the words on the page, her lips moving slightly as if she were tasting each sentence. She looked…content. Lost in her own world, soft and quiet in a way that felt like the exact opposite of everything in his life right now.

He cleared his throat, searching for something to say, anything that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot. “Good book?” he managed, his voice gruff, and immediately regretted it. Smooth, Logan. Real smooth.

She looked up, surprised, her gaze locking onto his. For a second, he thought she might brush him off, but then she gave a small, shy smile.

“Yeah, it’s… a mystery novel,” she said, holding up the cover. Her voice was soft, and he caught a faint trace of lavender like she’d been folding fresh laundry just before he came in. “I like to read while I’m waiting. It makes the time go faster.”

Logan nodded, his usual stoic expression softening just a little. “Seems like a good way to pass the time. This place could use the distraction.” He glanced around at the flickering fluorescent lights, the chipped tiles, the machines rattling like they were on their last legs. “Not exactly a scenic spot.”

She laughed, a quiet sound, but it lit up her face in a way that caught him off guard. “No, it’s not. But it’s peaceful, in its own way.”

They fell into a silence as she went back to her book, and Logan found himself watching her out of the corner of his eye as he sorted through the clothes, feeding them into the machine one by one. There was a calmness about her, a quiet strength, and he couldn’t help but wonder what her story was—why someone like her had chosen to live in a place like this, so close to the kind of trouble people usually ran from.

After a few minutes of silence, Logan cleared his throat, searching for something to say. “You… uh, you live alone?”

She looked up, her eyes narrowing just a fraction, a hint of suspicion flickering there. He could almost see her calculating whether or not to answer. “Do you really think I’d tell you that?” she asked, her tone mild but pointed.

Logan’s heart skipped. Shit. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like an idiot. “I didn’t—I’m not some creepy guy, I swear,” he said quickly, stumbling over his words in a way he wasn’t used to. “Just… making conversation.”

She arched an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “And you expect me to take your word for it?”

He felt heat rise to his face and shifted uncomfortably, aware of how ridiculous he must sound. This wasn’t him—Logan didn’t do small talk, especially not with someone he barely knew. But something about her had him feeling giddy, bumbling his way through a conversation he wasn’t quite prepared for.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to hold her gaze. “Look, I’m sorry. You have a point. It’s just… this neighborhood doesn’t exactly feel safe. I guess that’s why I asked.”

She sighed softly, closing her book and running her fingers along its worn spine. “Even more of a reason not to answer your questions, don’t you think?” Her tone was cool and cautious, but there was no malice there—just a quiet wariness that made him wonder what she’d been through to put up those walls.

Logan nodded, feeling a twinge of respect for her caution, even if it stung a little to be on the receiving end of it. She’s smart, he thought. Smart enough not to trust a stranger with more muscles than manners, asking personal questions in a laundromat.

An awkward silence settled between them, filled with the rhythmic hum of the machines. He glanced down at his laundry, watching the clothes tumble through the soapy water, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound stupid or intrusive. Finally, he let out a long breath.

“Look, I know I’m not exactly smooth,” he muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear. “I just… don’t see many people like you around here.”

She tilted her head, curiosity softening her guarded expression. “People like me?”

“Yeah. People who—” He struggled to find the right words. “Who seem like they don’t belong in a place like this.” He gave her a slight, self-conscious shrug. “You look… well, like you’ve got better places to be than a crappy laundromat in a bad part of town. That’s all.”

She studied him for a moment, the corner of her mouth lifting in what almost looked like amusement. “And you think you belong here?”

He let out a dry laugh, surprised by the question. “Probably more than most. It’s not exactly my first time in a place like this.”

“Figures,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping over him, taking in the worn leather jacket, the stubble, the roughness that clung to him like a second skin. “You look… I don’t know. Like you’re used to keeping people at a distance.”

Logan blinked, caught off guard by the accuracy of her observation. He shifted under her gaze, feeling exposed in a way he wasn’t used to. “Yeah, well,” he said, gruffly, “sometimes distance is a good thing. Keeps people safe.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her expression softening just a little. “Maybe. But it also keeps people alone.”

Her words hit him harder than he’d expected, settling into some quiet place inside him he’d thought was long gone. He didn’t know how to respond, so he just nodded, feeling the weight of her gaze on him like a challenge.

After a beat, she gathered her laundry, folding it with careful practiced movements, her hands steady and precise. He watched her, mesmerized by the quiet grace in each gesture, the way she seemed to carry her world with her, self-contained and resilient.

As she turned to leave, she glanced back at him, something unreadable in her eyes. “Take care, Logan,” she said, her voice softer now. It wasn’t a question—it was a goodbye, or maybe a warning.

He swallowed, surprised that she’d remembered his name. “Yeah… you too.”

She lingered for a second, then gave him a small nod and walked out, leaving the faint scent of lavender and the echo of her words hanging in the air.

Logan watched her go, feeling the ache of something unfinished settle in his chest. He’d wanted to ask her more, to find out what kept her here, what kept her so guarded. But he knew better than to push.

As he turned back to the hum of the washing machines, he realized he’d be counting down the days until he saw her again.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

“Stryker’s pissed,” Wade muttered, slumping against the kitchen counter in their dingy apartment. The usual smirk was missing from his face, replaced by a look of weary frustration. “Doesn’t understand how, after two weeks, we haven’t found the guy.”

Logan leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, jaw tight. The truth was, he’d practically given up on the mission. They’d followed every lead, shaken down every contact, and come up with nothing. At this point, the search felt pointless. Hell, he could barely keep his head in the game—his mind kept drifting back to her. He hadn’t seen her in days, not since that run-in at the laundromat, and the silence from across the hall gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Tell him this shit takes time. We’ve done everything we can,” he said, the words coming out hollow. He didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore, not even for Wade.

Wade sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I already did. But, y’know, Stryker’s not exactly big on patience. Guy thinks we’re machines or something.” He shot Logan a sidelong glance, noticing the faraway look in his eyes. “You all right, man?”

Logan grunted, brushing him off. “I need a drink,” he muttered, grabbing his worn leather jacket from the back of the sofa and heading for the door. He didn’t look back, didn’t wait for Wade’s response. The apartment felt too cramped, too stale, and he needed air—needed a chance, maybe, to see her.

He made his way down the narrow stairwell, taking two steps at a time, the dim light casting shadows over the worn wallpaper. The bar was quieter than usual, only a handful of regulars hunched over their drinks, lost in their thoughts. Logan scanned the room, his heart pounding harder than he cared to admit. He’d been hoping, half-expecting, to see her. But she kept to herself so much that even catching a glimpse felt like chasing smoke.

Then he saw her, and his breath caught. There she was, standing behind the bar, her sleeves rolled up, pouring a whiskey into a lowball glass with practiced precision. The faint glow of the bar lights softened her face, giving her an almost ethereal look in the dimness. She didn’t notice him at first, focused on her work, and he took a second just to watch her, feeling that strange pull tighten in his chest.

He slid onto a stool at the bar, waiting until she looked up and caught sight of him. Her eyes flickered with recognition, a brief, surprised spark that quickly settled into something more guarded.

“Didn’t know you worked here,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

She gave a small, almost shy smile, setting the glass she’d just poured in front of an older man at the end of the bar. “Just part-time,” she replied. “Pays the bills.”

Logan nodded, glancing at the bottles lined up behind her. “Don’t suppose you’d join me for a drink?”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, though there was something distant in her eyes. “I don’t drink,” she said, wiping down the counter with a cloth. “But I can pour you something strong if that’s what you need.”

He shrugged, trying to act casual. “Maybe I just wanted company.”

She paused, her hand stilling for a moment as she looked at him. “Rough day?”

Logan let out a humorless chuckle. “You could say that.” He hesitated, then added, “Work’s… complicated.”

She tilted her head, watching him with that quiet, steady gaze that always seemed to see right through him. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who likes talking about his job.”

“Not much to talk about,” he muttered, though he could feel the weight of it pressing on him, heavier than he wanted to admit. He took a deep breath, fingers tapping restlessly on the bar. “Let’s just say I’ve been chasing something that doesn’t want to be found.”

She nodded, her expression hardening just a bit. “Sometimes it’s better to let things go. Not everything needs to be caught.” Her words were gentle, but they struck something deep inside him, making him feel exposed in a way he wasn’t used to.

He ran a hand over his face, weary. “Yeah, maybe. Just… hard to walk away when you’ve got orders breathing down your neck.”

She arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement breaking through her usual reserve. “So you’re the type who follows orders, huh?”

Logan smirked, shaking his head. “Not exactly. But sometimes you don’t get a choice.” He picked up his glass, taking a slow sip of the whiskey she’d poured, savoring the burn as it went down. “What about you? Seems like you don’t mind keeping to yourself.”

She shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m used to it. Less complicated that way.”

There was a pause, and he could sense something unspoken there, a hint of a story she wasn’t quite ready to tell. He felt an unexpected urge to ask, to push just a little, but he held back, afraid of scaring her off.

Instead, he said, “This place doesn’t exactly feel like… I don’t know. The kind of spot for someone who likes peace and quiet.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and unexpected. “Probably not. But I don’t mind it here. It’s… predictable.” She looked down, fiddling with the edge of her towel, a small frown creasing her forehead. “I’ve had enough surprises for one lifetime.”

Logan watched her, feeling a pang of something he couldn’t name—sympathy, maybe, or just the strange, unexplainable need to understand her. “Yeah. I get that,” he murmured, surprising himself with how much he meant it. “I’m not much of a fan of surprises either.”

She glanced up, meeting his gaze, her expression softening. “Funny. Somehow, I think you’ve had your fair share.”

“More than I’d like,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. He wanted to tell her more, to somehow convey the weight he carried without unloading it all on her shoulders. But he was used to keeping that part of himself locked away. So instead, he just took another drink, feeling the burn of the whiskey like a familiar ache.

After a moment, she leaned on the bar, closer than she’d been before, and he caught a faint whiff of lavender—a soft, almost comforting scent that didn’t belong in a place like this. “For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “you don’t seem like the kind of guy who belongs here.”

He looked up, caught off guard by her words. There was something raw in her gaze, something vulnerable she was letting him see, if only for a second. At that moment, he felt the urge to reach out, to say something real, something that might close the gap between them.

But the words stuck in his throat. All he could manage was a rough, “Yeah. Maybe neither of us do.”

She smiled faintly, a ghost of one, then straightened, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. “I should get back to work,” she said, her voice soft but distant again.

Logan nodded, watching as she moved down the bar to help another customer. The warmth she’d shown him vanished as she fell back into the rhythm of her job, her expression becoming neutral, polite, reserved.

He sat there for a while, nursing his drink, watching her from the corner of his eye. There was a part of him that wanted to wait until her shift ended, to walk her home, to find out more about the life she kept hidden behind that quiet, steady demeanor. But he knew better. They were both loners, both wary, both used to walls that kept the world at a distance.

Still, as he finally rose to leave, he couldn’t help but glance back one last time, catching her eye for a fleeting moment. There was something there—something unspoken, a silent understanding like they were both seeing the loneliness in each other.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

A door slammed somewhere down the hall, jolting Logan awake. He shot up, his senses immediately on high alert, ears ringing from the sudden noise. In this dump of an apartment building, chaos was as predictable as the peeling paint on the walls, but something about this was different. He felt it low in his gut—a tug of instinct that told him her door was the one that had slammed.

He didn’t even think twice. Rolling out of bed, he barely bothered to throw on a shirt, his sweatpants clinging to his legs as he stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The air was thick and stale, the smell of old carpet mingling with the faint, sour odor of cigarette smoke. Shadows pooled in the corners, and the weak fluorescent light flickered above, casting an eerie, washed-out glow over everything.

Logan froze when he spotted a lanky, rough-looking guy standing outside her door, his posture tense, fists clenched and white as he pounded on the wood.

“C’mon, let me in!” the guy snarled, his voice slurred and aggressive. “We’re not done talking!”

Logan’s jaw tightened, a surge of anger rising in his chest. He watched for a second, sizing the guy up—a wiry frame, greasy hair, clothes rumpled like he hadn’t changed in days. The man looked like trouble, the kind of guy who didn’t know when to take no for an answer. And if he was here banging on her door at this hour, that made him Logan’s problem.

Logan’s voice came out low and cold as he approached. “You wanna keep it down?”

The guy spun around, his eyes narrowing as he took in Logan’s broad shoulders, the scowl etched deep on his face. “Who the hell are you?” he sneered, but there was a flicker of hesitation, a hint of unease that Logan caught right away.

Logan took another step forward, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “I’m the guy who lives down the hall,” he said, his tone deadly calm. “And you’re about two seconds away from regretting that door you’re banging on.”

The guy’s sneer wavered, but he tried to puff himself up, stepping forward like he was going to make something of it. “This doesn’t concern you, man. I’m just trying to talk to my girl.”

“Doesn’t look like she wants to talk,” Logan replied, glancing at the door. His fists clenched instinctively. The thought of this guy forcing his way in, disturbing her, made his blood boil. “So maybe you should take the hint and get lost.”

The guy scoffed, but there was a nervous edge creeping into his voice now. “Look, we’re just… we’re going through some stuff. It’s none of your business.”

Logan took one more step, close enough that he could see the guy’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Last warning. Leave. Or I make you leave.”

Before the guy could respond, the door opened a crack, and she appeared, her face pale and tense, eyes darting between Logan and this guy. “Logan, don’t. Please,” she said, her voice softer than usual but carrying a weight that made him pause. “It’s… it’s fine. I can handle it.”

Logan glanced at her, his irritation tempered by a flash of confusion. Handle it? The guy was practically foaming at the mouth, and she was telling him to back off.

The guy shot her a pleading look. “Come on, babe, just give me five minutes. We can talk this out.”

Her shoulders stiffened, and Logan could see the resolve in her eyes as she shook her head. “I already told you, we’re done. There’s nothing left to talk about. Just go.”

The guy didn’t budge, his face twisting with frustration. “You’re being unreasonable. This is all because of that stupid job, isn’t it? You think you’re too good for me now, huh?”

Logan felt his patience snap. He took a step forward, his voice a low growl. “She said go. Don’t make me tell you again.”

The guy’s eyes flicked back to Logan, the last traces of defiance draining out of him. For a second, he seemed to weigh his options, then cursed under his breath and turned, stalking down the hallway. He cast one last resentful glare over his shoulder before disappearing down the stairs.

As soon as he was out of sight, Logan turned back to her. She was leaning against the doorframe, her face tight with frustration. He opened his mouth to ask if she was all right, but she cut him off with a weary sigh.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she muttered, her eyes fixed somewhere near the floor.

Logan frowned. “Seemed like he wasn’t getting the message,” he replied, keeping his voice gentler than usual. “Didn’t look like he was gonna leave you alone.”

She crossed her arms, hugging herself as if trying to put some barrier between them. “I just… I didn’t want to make things worse. He’s already been hanging around too much as it is, and now—” She trailed off, looking away, clearly uncomfortable.

Logan’s brows furrowed. He’d come out here ready to throw the guy down the stairs if it came to that, but now he was starting to see the other side of it. “Is he…?” Logan paused, not sure how to phrase it. “Your boyfriend?”

She shook her head quickly. “No–I mean he was, sort of. Not anymore.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “He’s just… he doesn’t know when to let go.”

Logan felt a flash of anger on her behalf, a protective instinct flaring up inside him. “If he gives you any more trouble, you let me know. I’ll make sure he stays gone.”

Instead of relief, his words seemed to frustrate her. She let out a soft huff, rubbing her temples. “Logan, I don’t need a knight in shining armor. This is… complicated. He’s just going through something. It doesn’t matter—” Her voice trailed off leaving the silence to hang between them.

Logan clenched his jaw, forcing himself to take a step back. He wasn’t used to being told to stand down, especially when he felt someone needed his help. But he could see this only made her more anxious, that his interference was complicating things for her in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

“Fine,” he said, though it took effort to keep his voice steady. “But if he shows up again, I’m not gonna just sit by and watch him bother you.”

She looked at him, her expression softening for a moment. There was a flicker of gratitude in her eyes, tempered by weariness. “Thanks, Logan. I appreciate it. Really, but it won’t make things easier. He’ll just think—I just don’t want any more problems, okay?” 

He nodded, feeling a pang of something he couldn’t quite name. He’d wanted to protect her, to do something useful, but it seemed all he’d managed was to add to her stress. “Got it,” he said quietly.

She gave him a small, tentative smile, then turned back to her apartment. As she shut the door, he caught one last glimpse of her expression—tired, guarded, but grateful, like she was carrying the weight of more than just a bad ex.

Logan stood there for a long moment, staring at her closed door, hands clenched at his sides. He hadn’t realized how deeply he’d started to care until he’d felt that surge of anger seeing someone else give her trouble. But now he could feel her boundaries, a line she’d drawn that he hadn’t meant to cross.

Turning back to his apartment, he couldn’t shake the frustration coiled tight in his chest, or the quiet ache that came with knowing there were parts of her life he couldn’t protect her from.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

“You and that girl—have you made any progress?” Wade asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he took a lazy sip of his beer. They were sitting in their usual corner of the bar, ostensibly keeping an eye out for any sign of their elusive target. But Wade’s attention, as usual, had drifted to more entertaining topics.

Logan huffed, eyes scanning the room. “What did I tell you, Wade? I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Sensitive subject, big guy?” Wade’s grin only widened, clearly enjoying himself. “C’mon, I’m just saying—you’ve been pining after her like a lovesick puppy for weeks now. You’re not exactly subtle.”

Logan shot him a glare that could’ve cut steel, but Wade just shrugged, unbothered. “Look, I’ve got a way with the ladies. Maybe I can help you out.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Wade wasn’t listening. His eyes lit up as the door opened, and she walked in, pulling on her apron as she headed behind the bar. Logan tried not to stare, but he felt that familiar pull in his chest, his gaze drawn to her almost against his will. She looked tired, a little more reserved than usual, like something heavy was weighing on her mind. He couldn’t help but wonder if her ex had been causing her trouble again. He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to ask, to do something to make it better.

That’s when Wade got up.

Logan’s stomach tightened as Wade strolled across the bar, his usual cocky swagger on full display. He watched, jaw clenched, as Wade leaned on the bar, flashing her one of his trademark grins. She looked up, startled at first, and Logan saw her eyes flick briefly toward him before settling back on Wade. Her expression softened into a polite, practiced smile, the kind she gave every customer. But Wade wasn’t satisfied with politeness.

He couldn’t hear exactly what Wade was saying due to his jealousy overtaking his senses, but he saw her give a small, hesitant laugh, the kind that looked like she was just being polite. That didn’t matter—Wade was relentless, leaning in closer, gesturing animatedly, probably telling some ridiculous story. After a few moments, Logan saw her laugh again, this time a little more genuine, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

Logan’s fingers tightened around his glass, the jealousy hitting him like a punch to the gut. He tried to ignore it, tried to tell himself it was nothing—just Wade being Wade. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from them, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

Wade, sensing the effect he was having, shot a glance back at Logan, a smug grin flashing across his face before he turned back to her. Logan’s chest tightened. That bastard. He’d walked over there just to rile him up, and damn it, it was working.

Wade said something else, something that made her laugh again—this time a little louder, though Logan could tell it was still half-hearted, a courtesy laugh to appease the charming stranger who’d decided to bother her during her shift. She wasn’t truly engaged, but the sight of her laughing, even out of politeness, stirred something dark and possessive in Logan’s gut.

He forced himself to look away, taking a long drink to steady himself, but the sound of her laugh lingered, scratching at him. Wade was still leaning on the bar, still talking to her, probably laying it on thick just to make Logan squirm. Logan couldn’t help the flash of irritation that surged through him. It wasn’t like he’d made a claim on her or anything—but seeing Wade so close, making her laugh, it grated on him in a way he hadn’t expected.

After a few agonizing minutes, Wade finally sauntered back over, plopping down across from Logan with a satisfied smirk. Logan’s jaw was still clenched, his gaze flickering over to where she was now wiping down the bar, her expression already back to that familiar, guarded neutrality.

Wade raised an eyebrow, leaning in with a grin. “You see that? Had her laughing in no time. It’s called charm, my friend. You should try it sometime.”

Logan glared at him, his voice low and dangerous. “Cut the crap, Wade.”

“Oh, come on,” Wade chuckled, leaning back with a look of pure amusement. “Don’t be so uptight. If you’re not gonna make a move, someone else will.”

Logan’s fists tightened, and he forced himself to take a slow, steadying breath. “This isn’t a game, Wade.”

Wade shrugged, unbothered. “Never said it was. Just seems like you’re too busy brooding over her from a distance to actually, y’know, do anything.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a mocking whisper. “You afraid she’ll turn you down? Big, tough Logan afraid of a pretty girl?”

Logan’s nostrils flared, a quiet anger simmering in his chest, but he held back. He wasn’t going to give Wade the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he let his gaze drift back to her, watching as she moved behind the bar, her face calm but distant, like she was deliberately shutting herself off from everything around her.

The truth was, Wade wasn’t entirely wrong. Logan had been keeping his distance, unsure how to approach her, especially with everything going on in her life. He didn’t want to be another complication, another person who made things harder for her. But watching Wade talk to her, seeing that faint, forced smile on her face—it made him realize just how badly he wanted to be the one making her smile, not out of politeness or obligation, but because she actually wanted him there.

Wade leaned in, still smirking. “So? What’s the plan, big guy? You gonna sit here and sulk, or you gonna actually talk to her?”

Logan’s gaze snapped back to him, irritation flaring. “Unlike you, I don’t go around sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Hey, I was just being friendly,” Wade said, raising his hands in mock innocence. “You know, she’s pretty nice once you get her to open up a little. Thought I’d do you a favor, warm her up for you.”

Logan scoffed, but he couldn’t hide the bitterness in his tone. “She’s not some conquest, Wade.”

Wade rolled his eyes. “Relax, old man. I’m not trying to steal her. Just trying to get you to wake up and do something about it before she slips away.” He glanced back toward the bar, where she was now stacking glasses, oblivious to their conversation. “You think she’s gonna wait around forever? Women like that don’t stay single long.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his heart pounding with a mixture of frustration and jealousy he couldn’t shake. He took another sip of his drink, forcing himself to keep his gaze on anything else instead of glancing her way again. The truth was, Wade’s words struck too close to home. He’d been holding back, convincing himself that he had time, that he didn’t need to rush things. But seeing her with someone else—even Wade—made him realize how thin that excuse really was.

After a moment, Logan set his glass down, his eyes cold and hard. “You don’t know the first thing about her, Wade.”

Wade shrugged, unfazed. “Maybe not. But neither do you, at this rate.” He flashed another grin, leaning back in his seat. “Look, you’re not gonna scare me off with your brooding, so maybe just… I don’t know, think about it. You might find that going over there and actually talking to her works better than glaring at me.”

Logan didn’t respond, but his gaze drifted back to her, watching as she moved with quiet efficiency, her expression carefully blank. He could still hear her forced laugh echoing in his head, the way she’d seemed to tolerate Wade’s attention rather than welcome it.

With a resigned sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. If Wade wasn’t going to back off, maybe it was time to take matters into his own hands.

He didn’t know what he was going to say, but he knew one thing for sure: he couldn’t sit around and let someone else fill the space he’d been too afraid to claim.

Logan slid onto the bar stool in front of her, his presence a solid weight she couldn’t ignore, even though she kept her eyes down, focused on wiping an already-clean spot on the counter. She looked up briefly, her gaze flicking to him before darting away, a faint, polite smile barely gracing her lips.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gruff but softer than usual.

“Hi.” She answered quietly, her eyes settling somewhere over his shoulder, anywhere but on him. Her hands kept busy, her movements almost mechanical as she straightened the bottles on the bar and rearranged the napkins as if his presence alone made her feel she had to be doing something.

Logan felt a pang of something uncomfortably close to regret. He wasn’t used to this—a woman shrinking away from him, putting up walls before he’d even had a chance to say his piece. The memory of her ex banging on her door flashed through his mind, and he shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Look, about the other night,” he began, voice rougher than he intended. “I… I didn’t mean to, y’know, step in like that. I just thought—well, it seemed like you needed help.”

She finally looked at him, her gaze sharp and guarded, like she was measuring each word before letting it reach her. “It’s fine,” she said flatly, her tone clipped. “I can handle my own problems.”

Logan swallowed, feeling the rejection like a slap. He knew she was brushing him off, trying to make him back down, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to let it go. “Didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t,” he muttered, his voice softer. “Just… didn’t want to see you put in a bad spot.”

She let out a small, humorless laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she busied herself with the glasses on the bar. “Bad spots are part of the package around here, Logan. You don’t need to make it your business.”

He leaned forward slightly, brow furrowing. “Maybe I just don’t like seeing you get hurt.” The words came out more intense than he’d intended, and he saw her stiffen, her hands pausing mid-reach. She looked up, really looked at him, a flash of something unreadable in her eyes—surprise, maybe, or irritation. It was hard to tell.

She took a breath, visibly collecting herself. “Logan… I appreciate the concern, really. But I’m fine.” Her voice was steady but distant like she was pulling herself back behind a wall he couldn’t get through. “This kind of thing… it’s not new to me.”

That didn’t sit right with him, the idea of her having to handle men like her ex, people who didn’t take no for an answer. He wanted to ask her more, to understand what kind of trouble she’d been through, but he knew that line was dangerous. Respect her space, he reminded himself, even as the urge to push gnawed at him.

But he couldn’t help himself. “You don’t… you don’t have anyone else to look out for you?”

Her gaze flicked to him, sharper now, her eyes narrowing. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just…” He faltered, feeling himself starting to drown in the weight of his awkwardness. “You don’t seem to have anyone around. Family, friends. Someone who could back you up if things got rough.”

She stared at him for a long, tense moment, her expression unreadable. Then she let out a slow, controlled exhale, setting down the glass she’d been wiping with careful deliberation. “Logan, you don’t know me. And frankly, I don’t know you. You and your friend…” She paused, glancing over at Wade, who was lounging at the other end of the bar, eyeing them with an amused grin. “You both keep… hovering. And it’s starting to feel a little strange.”

Logan’s jaw tightened and a wave of frustration and embarrassment crashed over him. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, a bit too defensively. “We’re just… we’re just looking out for you. This place isn’t exactly safe.”

She raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. “And you think I don’t know that? You think I don’t understand the risks of living here?”

Logan opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, his words failing him. He realized he’d overstepped, pushed too far without thinking. She didn’t need a protector, at least not one who bulldozed into her life without an invitation. And yet, here he was, sitting at her bar, trying to fix things he barely understood.

“I’m just saying…” He trailed off, his voice softer, almost hesitant. “I see you here, night after night, putting up with jerks who don’t know when to quit. You’re not like them. You deserve better.”

Her expression softened, but only slightly, and she glanced away, a distant look in her eyes. “Better,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Right.” She looked back at him, meeting his gaze with something close to resignation. “I don’t need saving, Logan. I’ve been doing just fine without it.”

He swallowed, hating how small those words made him feel. He’d faced down enemies, been through battles that left him scarred in ways she couldn’t imagine, but sitting here under her gaze, he felt exposed, clumsy, like he was fumbling in the dark.

She sighed, glancing down, and for a moment, he saw a hint of vulnerability in her expression—a crack in her armor. “Why are you really here?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Why are you and your friend even bothering with me? I’m just… some bartender.”

Logan hesitated, feeling Wade’s eyes on him from across the room, knowing he was probably getting a kick out of watching him squirm. But this was more than just Wade’s meddling. This was him, unable to walk away, pulled back to her time and time again for reasons he couldn’t explain.

“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” he said finally, his voice low, but steady. “You’re… different. Strong. I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “I know I’m not good with words, but… I see you here, and I just keep thinking you deserve more than this.”

She looked at him, her guarded expression softening, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw something crack beneath the surface—a glimmer of vulnerability, something raw and unguarded. But then, just as quickly, she pulled back, straightening, her walls going up again.

“Oh, so I’m a charity case now?” she murmured, her voice tight and distant, the hint of anger simmering beneath her words. She crossed her arms, shifting her weight as she looked him over, her gaze cold and appraising. “Look, I told you—I don’t need anyone looking out for me, especially not some guy who doesn’t know when he’s made someone uncomfortable.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, each one sinking in deep. Logan’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He felt his face go hot, a mix of shame and frustration twisting inside him. He wanted to explain himself, to tell her he hadn’t meant it that way—but the look on her face told him that anything he said now would only make things worse.

“I—” he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. She kept her eyes on him, unblinking, her expression hard as steel. He could see it now—the line he’d crossed, the space he’d invaded without thinking. He’d thought he was helping, protecting her, but all he’d done was make her feel trapped.

She took a breath, exhaling slowly as she glanced away, her jaw clenched. “You don’t get it, do you?” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Guys like you think you’re doing me a favor, stepping in, trying to… ‘protect’ me. But all you’re doing is making me feel like I can’t handle my own life. Like I’m weak. And I’m not.”

Logan clenched his fists under the bar, forcing himself to stay quiet, to listen. He’d been on the other side of this before—people assuming things about him, trying to fix things they didn’t understand. Now, for the first time, he realized he was doing the same thing to her. He looked down, shame tightening in his chest.

She shook her head, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “You barely know me, Logan. You have no idea what I’ve been through. And I’m not interested in becoming some project for you to fix or some one-night stand.”

Her words stung, cutting through the last shreds of his defensiveness. He’d been telling himself he was looking out for her, that she needed someone to stand up for her. But now he could see how it must have looked to her—some guy she barely knew, showing up again and again, prying into her life, acting like he knew better.

He cleared his throat, voice rough. “You’re right,” he said quietly, finally meeting her gaze. “I… I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

She watched him, her eyes softened just a fraction, though the wariness remained. He could feel the weight of his own mistakes pressing down on him, making him feel clumsy and exposed.

“Look,” she said, her tone gentler but still guarded, “I appreciate whatever it is you’re trying to do. Really. But you don’t get to decide what I need. That’s my choice. And if I want help, I’ll ask for it.”

He nodded slowly, feeling a strange mix of relief and regret. He could sense the walls she’d put up, and he knew now that he was part of the reason they were there.

He stood up, feeling the weight of her words settle over him like a cold ache. “Right. Sorry if we made things weird,” he muttered, his voice gruffer than he intended. “Didn’t mean to… overstep.”

For the first time, she seemed to soften, her gaze losing some of its hardness. She let out a long breath, looking down at the bar as if collecting her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice was almost kind, but there was an edge to it, a reminder.

“Just… maybe think twice before you go around trying to be someone’s hero,” she said, her lips curving into a faint, sad smile.

Logan felt the weight of her words settle over him, heavier than anything he’d carried in a long time. He nodded, swallowing back the urge to say more. For once, he knew he needed to let her have the last word.

She turned away, her attention shifting to a group of customers at the other end of the bar. She moved with quiet efficiency, her shoulders tense but steady, shutting him out completely.

Logan stood there for a moment, feeling the full sting of her rejection, the ache of realizing he’d overstepped in ways he couldn’t take back. She didn’t look at him again, didn’t acknowledge his presence, and he knew he’d lost whatever fragile connection they’d had.

“Smooth, as always,” Wade drawled, leaning back with an infuriating grin.

Logan ignored him, his jaw clenched tight as he sat down. He’d thought he was protecting her but all he’d done was drive her further away. 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

The past few days, Logan had kept a low profile, barely leaving the apartment except to grab food or take out the trash. He didn’t want to risk running into her—not after the way she’d shut him down, her words echoing in his mind like a bruise that wouldn’t fade. She’d made it perfectly clear that she didn’t need his help, and he’d gotten the message. Loud and clear.

But tonight, Wade had barged in with new intel from Stryker. Apparently, their elusive journalist was on the move, spotted hanging around one of the local clubs. Logan hadn’t been in the mood to play dress-up and join the nightlife, but he didn’t have much choice. Stryker was breathing down their necks, and if this was their best shot at tracking the guy down, he couldn’t let it slip by.

So he’d reluctantly thrown on a clean shirt and made the walk a few blocks down to the club, Wade at his side, chattering nonstop as they reached the entrance.

“It’s a bit nicer than the bar we live above,” Wade noted, casting a glance around the neon-lit exterior with approval. A line of people waited outside, all glittering dresses and sharp suits, laughter, and perfume filling the warm night air. Wade smirked, nudging Logan with his elbow. “Maybe if you’re lucky, you can find another pretty girl to make up for your last crash-and-burn.”

Logan rolled his eyes, ignoring Wade’s jab. “We’re here to find the journalist. Stay focused,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as they made their way inside. The club was dimly lit, pulsing with low red and blue lights that throbbed to the beat of the music. Bodies moved on the dance floor, a tangle of arms and laughter and heat, and Logan felt a familiar irritation simmering under his skin. Clubs weren’t his scene. Too loud, too crowded, too many damn people.

He forced himself to concentrate, sniffing the air, trying to pick up any hint of their target’s scent. But the mix of sweat, cologne, and spilled alcohol made it nearly impossible to pick up anything distinctive. He scanned the crowd, his eyes narrowing as he tried to catch sight of anyone who looked remotely like the guy they were hunting.

But then he saw her.

At first, he thought he was imagining it—a trick of the lights, or just his mind playing cruel games. But no. It was her, standing near the edge of the dance floor, laughing at something some woman was saying. She looked… different. Completely different from the guarded, quiet bartender he’d met. Her hair was loose, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and her lips were painted a glossy, tempting shade that caught the light every time she smiled. She wore a dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, showing off a side of her he’d never seen before, a side he hadn’t even known existed.

Logan’s mouth went dry, and for a moment, he forgot why he was even there. All he could think about was her—the way she moved, the easy smile on her face, the way her laughter seemed to cut through the noise of the club like it was meant for him alone. He’d been trying to avoid her, trying to keep his distance, but seeing her like this, carefree and vibrant… pulled him in, like a magnet he couldn’t resist.

Wade must have noticed his distraction, because he gave Logan a light smack on the shoulder, pulling him out of his trance. “Logan, buddy, don’t tell me you’re still stuck on her,” Wade said, his tone half-amused, half-annoyed. “I swear, I’ve never seen you this pathetic over anyone. Rejection’s hitting you hard, huh?”

Logan shook his head, forcing himself to tear his gaze away, though his eyes kept drifting back to her. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, more to himself than to Wade. “We’re here for the journalist. Just… keep your eyes open.”

Wade wasn’t buying it. He crossed his arms, smirking. “Oh, I’m keeping my eyes open, all right. You, on the other hand…” He whistled, nodding in her direction. “You’re about one second away from abandoning the mission to go talk to her. I mean, come on. If you’re that obsessed, just go over there already.”

Logan clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to punch Wade then and there. But a part of him hated that Wade was right. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his head since their last conversation, and now, seeing her like this, he was barely holding himself back.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he started making his way across the crowded floor, ignoring Wade’s low chuckle behind him. As he approached, she turned slightly, her gaze sweeping over the crowd until it landed on him. Her smile faltered, surprise flickering in her eyes before she quickly masked it, her face shifting into something more guarded.

“Logan,” she said, her tone cautious, almost as if she were bracing herself. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling out of place, unsure what to say. “Yeah. Didn’t expect to see you either,” he replied, his voice gruffer than he intended. “You… uh, you look different.” He instantly regretted it, realizing how awkward it sounded.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Different?”

“Good different,” he amended quickly, his cheeks warming. Real smooth, Logan, he thought, mentally kicking himself. 

She glanced away, a faint frown tugging at her lips.“Thanks I guess,” she said, then gestured to her friend, who was watching the exchange with barely concealed interest. “I’m just here with my friend, Monica. She thought it was a good idea for girls’ night and dragged me out.” He could see a flash of uncomfortableness before she masked it.

Logan nodded, his mind racing, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a fool. But before he could gather his thoughts, her friend nudged her playfully, smirking at Logan.

“So, this is the guy you told me about?” Monica asked, her eyes dancing with mischief.

She shot Monica a warning look, her cheeks flushing. “I… I didn’t tell you that much,” she muttered, casting a quick, embarrassed glance at Logan.

A flicker of hope stirred in his chest. She talked about me? He tried not to let it show, but the thought sent a spark through him, making him stand a little straighter.

Monica gave her a knowing smile, then leaned closer to Logan, lowering her voice. “Just so you know, she’s been playing hard to get for a reason. But maybe she’s finally ready to let someone in.”

Logan looked at her, the guarded woman he’d met behind the bar now looking distinctly uncomfortable, her cheeks flushed a warm pink. She looked away, biting her lip, and he realized she was just as thrown off-balance as he was.

For a moment, they stood in silence, the thrum of the club’s music pulsing around them, the energy of the room fading into the background. All he could see was her—her flushed cheeks, the slight nervousness in her gaze, the softness in her expression that he’d never seen before.

Monica sighed dramatically, looking between them with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Oh, look at that. I need another drink,” she announced, clearly not needing one at all. She winked at her friend. “Plus, I think I see a cute guy over there. You two… have fun.” With one last grin, she slipped away, disappearing into the crowd and leaving them alone.

Logan took a steadying breath, forcing himself to look her in the eyes, to say what he’d been meaning to since their last conversation. “Listen… about the other night,” he began, voice low and careful. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She hesitated, searching his face. He held her gaze, hoping she could see he meant it. For a moment, he thought he saw the walls she kept around herself soften, just a little. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it,” she said softly, her voice barely carrying over the thrum of the music. “It’s just… I’m not used to people getting involved in my life.”

Logan nodded, understanding more than he could put into words. “I’m not exactly used to… letting people in either.” The confession felt strange on his tongue, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t planned, but it was the truth. He could see that she understood, her expression shifting from guarded to something softer, that made his heart beat a little faster.

They stood there, inches apart, the pulse of the club and the chatter of people fading into the background. Logan wanted to reach out, to touch her hand, to bridge that last bit of distance between them, but he held back, waiting for her lead.

After a moment, she gave him a tentative smile. “Did Wade drag you out here?” she asked, the tension easing just a bit as a hint of humor crept into her voice.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “What makes you think that?”

She shrugged, glancing away shyly. “You don’t… you’re like me,” she said, fumbling over her words. “I just didn’t think you’d be the kind of guy who’d want to go to a club.”

He smiled, trying to put her at ease. “I go to bars all the time. Almost the same thing, right?”

She let out a small, nervous laugh. “Yeah, I suppose so. I don’t drink, but Monica always drags me out, says it’s ‘good for me.’” She made air quotes, rolling her eyes slightly.

“I know.” Logan’s face went hot. “I mean, I remember you don’t drink. That’s why… well, I guess that’s why I was surprised to see you here.” He cleared his throat, trying to regain his footing. “But you look… different tonight.”

She raised an eyebrow, her expression growing cautious. “You already said that. Do you make it a habit to repeat yourself?”

Logan fumbled for the right words, suddenly feeling like a teenager on his first date. “I mean…you look beautiful tonight,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. His gaze flicked over her, taking her in again.

She went very still, her eyes searching his face. For a second, he thought he’d finally broken through to her, that maybe she could see how much he meant it. But then her expression shifted, her lips pressing together, her eyes hardening. She looked down, and he could see her shoulders tense, her arms wrapping around herself as if she were closing off.

“Oh,” she said quietly, a forced, brittle smile tugging at her lips. “So… what? I only look beautiful when I’m dressed up? When I’m… like this?”

Logan’s eyes widened, realization hitting him like a slap. “No—no, that’s not what I meant.”

She shook her head, her voice barely a whisper as she looked away. “I knew it was stupid to come out tonight,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “Guess I’m just someone you feel sorry for? Want to just take pity on?”

“Hey, no—” Logan reached for her arm instinctively, but she pulled back, her face turning away to hide the tears welling in her eyes. The sight made his chest tighten, guilt flooding him as he realized just how badly he’d misstepped.

“I thought maybe…” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, brushing a hand quickly across her cheek. “Never mind.” She looked back at him, her eyes glossy, her expression one of hurt and frustration. “Forget it, Logan. I don’t need this.”

“Wait,” he said, desperate now, his voice thick with regret. “It’s not pity. I just… I wanted you to know that I—”

She didn’t let him finish. With a tight, broken smile, she turned on her heel, pushing her way through the crowd and disappearing into the pulsing mass of bodies on the dance floor. He stood there, frozen, watching her slip away, her silhouette vanishing into the blur of lights and movement.

Logan felt an ache settle deep in his chest, the weight of her words sinking in. He’d tried so hard to find the right thing to say, to make her see how he felt—but all he’d done was confirm her worst fears, making her feel like he only saw her worth when she was dressed up, made up, transformed into someone she thought he’d want.

He stood there for a moment, lost in the noise and the lights, feeling the regret gnawing at him like a wound that wouldn’t heal.

Behind him, Wade sidled up, taking in Logan’s expression with a low whistle. “Well, that looked like it went well.”

Logan glared at him, too frustrated to respond. Wade shook his head, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Man, you’re really a disaster with women, you know that?”

Logan clenched his fists, ignoring Wade’s taunts as he scanned the crowd, hoping for another glimpse of her, even though he knew she wouldn’t want to see him right now. He’d messed up, probably worse than he’d ever messed up anything before. But he couldn’t just leave it like this. Not when she was the one person he couldn’t get out of his mind.

Without a word to Wade, he pushed through the crowd, determination hardening in his chest. He didn’t know how he was going to fix this, but he knew one thing—he wasn’t going to let her slip away again. Not like this.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan spotted her near the dimly lit hallway by the bathrooms, sitting on the floor with her legs curled up to her chest, her face buried in her arms. The sight stopped him. She looked so small, so vulnerable, and the thought that he’d been the one to put that hurt in her eyes twisted something painful inside him. He knew he should leave her alone—she’d already told him to. But he couldn’t. Not when he felt the ache of her words as if they’d been carved into him.

He took a cautious step closer, clearing his throat. “Hey… I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the muffled thump of music from the club. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She looked up, her eyes red and swollen from crying, and the guilt hit him all over again. Her gaze was sharp, guarded, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath it—a weariness like she was tired of feeling this way.

“Just go away, Logan,” she said, her voice wavering as she hugged her knees tighter. “Haven’t you done enough?”

He wanted to reach out, to touch her shoulder, anything to make this right, but he held back, forcing himself to respect her space. “Please,” he said, his voice rough. “Just… hear me out. I didn’t mean it like that.”

She let out a bitter laugh, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s not your fault,” she said, cutting him off. Her voice was shaky and raw, but there was a surprising steadiness underneath like she was trying to take control of her pain. “I… I overthink things. I read too much into what people say.”

Logan shook his head, his brow furrowing. “But I should’ve been more careful with my words. I—”

“It’s not about you, Logan,” she interrupted, her gaze dropping to the floor. She took a shaky breath as if she were forcing herself to let him see a piece of herself she usually kept hidden. “All my life, I’ve only ever felt… I don’t know, noticed… when I was all dressed up. People would tell me I was beautiful, but only when I was like this,” she gestured to her dress, her makeup, the polished version of herself that she’d put on tonight. “And somewhere along the line, I guess I just started to believe that’s all there was to me. That if I wasn’t done up, I didn’t… matter.”

Logan’s chest tightened as he listened, his discomfort fading in the face of her honesty. He understood, more than she realized. He knew what it felt like to wear a mask, to be seen in a way that didn’t match who you were.

“Look, I get it,” he said softly, his voice thick. “I know what it’s like to feel like… like you’re on the outside. Like people only see a part of you and ignore the rest.”

She let out a short, almost bitter laugh, her gaze flicking over him, taking in the rugged, handsome man who had sat next to her. “You? An outsider?” she said, the skepticism clear in her voice. “Come on, Logan. Look at you. How could someone like you know what it feels like to not… fit?”

He swallowed, feeling the old scars hidden beneath the surface ache in response to her words. “You’d be surprised,” he murmured, his gaze distant for a moment as he stared at the wall across from them. “People see what they want to see. This…” He gestured vaguely to himself, his broad shoulders, his gruff exterior. “It’s just armor. Doesn’t mean I fit in. Doesn’t mean I feel at home anywhere.”

She went quiet, studying him with a new kind of curiosity, like she was seeing a side of him she hadn’t expected. Her expression softened, and for a moment, the two of them sat in silence, the thumping bass of the club seeming to fade into the background, leaving them in their own little world.

“I didn’t know…” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible.

Logan shrugged, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I’m not saying it’s the same. Just… I get it. You feel like you have to be something else, just to be seen. But you don’t. You’re worth a hell of a lot more than some fancy dress and makeup.”

She blinked, looking down, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “I… I don’t know how to believe that,” she admitted, her voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear it.

He felt a strange surge of protectiveness, an urge to make her see herself the way he did. “You don’t have to believe it all at once,” he said softly. “Just… start small. You’re here, right? That’s a start.”

She looked up at him, a faint glimmer of hope mixed with hesitation in her eyes. “You really think so?”

Logan nodded, his gaze steady and unwavering. “Yeah. I do.” He hesitated, then added, “And for what it’s worth, I didn’t mean that you’re only beautiful like this. I meant… I just meant that you looked happy. You looked… free. That’s what I saw.”

A soft, surprised smile tugged at her lips, and he felt a flicker of relief, like maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t ruined everything.

“I guess… I guess I did feel a little free tonight,” she admitted, her voice tentative, like she was still testing the idea out.

They sat there in silence for a moment, just looking at each other, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Logan felt the weight of her gaze, his eyes shifting to look down at her glossy lips. He didn’t understand why it stirred something deep inside him. 

Finally, she looked away, clearing her throat. “Thanks,” she murmured, glancing up at him with a tentative smile. “For… understanding. And for not letting me just sit here feeling sorry for myself.”

“Anytime,” Logan replied, his voice a soft, steady rumble, grounding her.

They stayed like that, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her shoulder, neither of them moving to fill the space between them. It was rare for him to feel like this—like he could just be here, be himself, and have that be enough. She seemed to relax, letting herself breathe in his presence, a hint of comfort settling into her expression.

But then her friend’s voice sliced through the moment, loud and slightly tipsy, echoing down the hallway. “There you are!” Monica stumbled to a halt, her eyes narrowing the second she noticed the red around her friend’s eyes, the tear tracks still faintly visible on her cheeks. Monica’s gaze shot to Logan, her eyes flashing with instant, protective suspicion. “What the hell? Did this guy—”

She quickly got to her feet, hands up in reassurance, cheeks flushing. “No, no, it’s fine,” she said, glancing back at Logan with an apologetic look. “Logan didn’t do anything.”

Monica crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised skeptically. “You swear? Because I’m pretty sure I could kick his ass, even if he’s big.”

Logan almost laughed, but he held back, just giving a slight shake of his head. “I’m harmless,” he muttered, though the hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Monica narrowed her eyes, looking between them with obvious doubt. “Fine. I’ll let it go… for now.” She slipped her arm around her friend’s shoulders, lowering her voice. “But hey, I found someone way more fun than this brooding guy. He’s tall, dark, and cute as hell,” Monica said, shooting Logan a sideways look. “Let’s go, yeah?”

She hesitated, her gaze flickering back to Logan, lingering there for a moment. He could see the indecision in her eyes, the hint of a question, like she wasn’t entirely ready to walk away. Part of him wanted to reach out, to tell her to stay, to keep talking, but he bit the words back. He knew she didn’t owe him anything, and he wasn’t about to guilt her into staying.

She gave him a small, reluctant smile, a little sad around the edges. “I… I’ll see you around, Logan,” she said softly like she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Yeah,” he replied, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “Take care.”

With one last glance, she let Monica tug her back toward the crowded, neon-lit main room, disappearing into the sea of people. Logan stayed where he was, the ache in his chest unfamiliar and raw. He hadn’t wanted to let her go, but he’d seen the uncertainty in her eyes, the pull between her friend and whatever connection they’d shared just moments before. And he couldn’t blame her for choosing the friend who’d stood by her through who-knew-what, instead of the stranger who’d stumbled into her life.

He let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. He’d almost forgotten why he was even here, but the reality of it settled back over him like a cold splash of water. The mission. The damn journalist.

Reluctantly, he pushed himself off the wall, heading back into the main area to find Wade, hoping he’d at least managed to keep his eye on their target. But as he scanned the crowd, a familiar laugh caught his attention, coming from the back corner of the club.

He sighed, already knowing what he’d find.

Sure enough, Wade was slouched in a booth with some girl draped over him, her fingers tangled in his hair, her lipstick smudged against his cheek. They were laughing, Wade’s arm wrapped possessively around her waist, clearly oblivious to everything else.

Logan clenched his fists, feeling a fresh wave of irritation rise. He pushed through the crowd and stopped in front of the booth, crossing his arms. “We’re supposed to be working, remember?”

Wade looked up, still grinning, completely unbothered. “Oh, hey, Logan!” he slurred, throwing an arm out as if he were inviting Logan to join in on the fun. “Lighten up, man. Haven’t seen you all night. What, were you off getting cozy with your lady friend?”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “We have a job to do, Wade. You know, finding the journalist? Stryker’s going to be thrilled if we come back empty-handed because you were too busy making out in the corner.”

Wade just laughed, leaning back with a lazy grin. “Relax, Logan. We’ve been chasing this guy for weeks, and he hasn’t shown up once. If he’s even here, he’s not coming out till way later. Might as well have a little fun while we wait.”

Logan shot a glare at Wade’s “date,” who giggled and nuzzled closer, clearly not bothered by the tension. He felt his patience snap, his frustration boiling over. All night, he’d been on edge, caught between his need to finish the job and the emotions he couldn’t quite bury when it came to her. And now here was Wade, throwing it all away for a quick thrill.

“Fine,” Logan bit out, his voice low. “You go ahead and have your fun, Wade. I’m finishing this myself.”

Wade chuckled, unfazed. “Oh, come on, don’t be like that, man. It’s just one night. Besides…” He shot Logan a knowing look. “I saw the way you looked at her. Maybe you should be thanking me. Gave you a chance to make a move.”

Logan didn’t respond, but Wade’s words hit uncomfortably close to the truth. He had been distracted. He’d let his focus slip, and now he was paying for it.

Without another word, Logan turned on his heel and stalked away, pushing through the crowd toward the exit. The night air hit him like a slap, cool and bracing, but it didn’t do much to ease the frustration roiling inside him. He’d let Wade derail the mission, let his own emotions cloud his judgment, and now the whole thing felt like a waste.

As he started down the street, his mind drifted back to her—the way she’d looked at him, the faint trace of hurt in her eyes before she’d walked away. He clenched his fists, a new determination hardening in his chest. He might have blown this mission tonight, but he wasn’t done. Not with the mission, and not with her.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan had barely made it back to the apartment before exhaustion took hold, weighing down his limbs. He kicked off his boots and peeled off his shirt, letting it drop carelessly to the floor before sinking onto the bed. His mind was still tangled with thoughts of her—her quiet smile, the guarded look in her eyes, the way she’d walked away with her friend’s encouragement. He’d messed things up, and the night felt like one long series of missed chances.

He’d only been asleep for a couple of hours when a noise jolted him awake. At first, he thought it was part of some half-formed nightmare or maybe just the usual racket from one of the neighbors. But then he caught something familiar—her voice, muffled through the thin walls. He strained his hearing, every instinct snapping to attention. A glance at the grimy clock on his nightstand told him it was 1:29 a.m.

She must have just gotten home. But she wasn’t alone.

Logan sat up, his heartbeat quickening. He knew he should let it go, should just lie back down and ignore whatever was happening on the other side of the wall. But before he could think better of it, he slipped out of bed, padding across the creaky floorboards to the front door. He pressed his ear to the wall, barely breathing, his heightened senses picking up every word.

The guy’s voice was low and easy, with that too-smooth tone Logan had learned to distrust. He sounded friendly enough, but there was an edge of expectation, a subtle suggestion that grated against Logan’s nerves.

“So… tonight was fun,” the guy was saying, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Maybe we could do it again? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Logan could picture her expression without even seeing it—those walls going up, that faint, polite smile she used when she didn’t want to let someone in. He heard her let out a soft sigh.

“I’m… not really sure about tomorrow,” she replied, her voice guarded, cautious. “I have a lot going on.”

The guy chuckled, but there was a forced quality to it. “Come on, just a drink or something. You don’t have to play so hard to get, you know?”

Logan felt his jaw clench, his hands curling into fists at his sides. The guy was pushing, trying to wear down her resistance, and it grated on him like sandpaper. He didn’t like the way it sounded, didn’t like the edge in the guy’s voice like he thought he could charm his way past her boundaries. Logan’s instinct to protect her flared, raw, and almost territorial, even though he knew he had no right to feel that way.

There was a pause, and he could hear her shifting, probably stepping back, putting a little distance between them. “It’s not that,” she said, a little too politely. “I just… need some space, that’s all. Tonight was nice, but—”

“Space, huh?” the guy interrupted, his tone slipping from charming to something a little sharper. “You know, you don’t make it easy, do you?”

Logan could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, the urge to step outside and tell this guy to back off building with each word. But he held himself in check, forcing himself to stay silent, to let her handle it. She didn’t need him barging in like some kind of white knight, as much as he wanted to.

Another pause, and he heard her take a breath, steady but firm. “I appreciate tonight. Really. But I’m not looking for… anything serious.”

The guy let out a huff, barely masking his disappointment. “All right,” he said, though his tone made it clear he wasn’t happy about it. “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

Logan listened, tense, as he heard the guy’s footsteps retreating down the hallway. Only when he heard the click of her door closing did he let out the breath he’d been holding. His fists unclenched, but the tension in his chest didn’t ease. He knew she’d handled it. She didn’t need him intervening. But the way the guy had pushed, the subtle pressure in his tone… made Logan’s blood simmer.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he slipped into the hallway, moving quietly until he reached her door. He hesitated, one hand raised, hovering just above the wood. Part of him knew he should just let it be, go back to his apartment, and leave her alone. But he couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at him, the urge to make sure she was really all right.

He knocked, softly at first, then a little louder when he didn’t hear anything.

A moment later, the door cracked open, and she peered out, eyes widening when she saw him. She looked tired, her makeup smudged, a faint crease of worry lingering between her brows. “Logan?” she said, sounding surprised, her voice soft and uncertain. “What are you…?”

He swallowed, his voice coming out rougher than he’d meant. “I just… wanted to make sure you’re okay. I heard him… y’know. Talking.”

She sighed, glancing back into her apartment for a moment before opening the door a little wider. “You were listening?” she asked, a faint hint of annoyance in her tone.

Logan shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just… wanted to make sure he didn’t give you any trouble.”

She looked at him, her expression softening, the guardedness melting away just a little. “It’s fine, Logan. Really. He was… nice, mostly. Just… maybe he wanted something I’m not ready to give.”

Logan nodded, relief mingling with an odd sense of satisfaction at her words. “Good. That he’s gone, I mean.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, “I just didn’t like the way he sounded. Like he thought he could… push you around.”

Her lips pressed into a faint smile, something close to gratitude in her eyes. “Thanks. But I can handle guys like that.” She let out a tired laugh. “I’ve been handling guys like that for a while now.”

He nodded, leaning against the doorframe, his gaze searching hers. “Yeah. I know you can.” He paused, then added, almost reluctantly, “But you don’t have to do it alone, y’know. If anyone bothers you… I’m right across the hall.”

She looked up at him, her eyes lingering on his face, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of vulnerability there—a quiet gratitude she wasn’t quite ready to express. But then she shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks, Logan,” she murmured. “But… I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep an eye on me. I don’t want to be someone’s… responsibility.”

He shook his head. “It’s not that. I just… I care. That’s all.”

Her eyes softened, and she looked away, swallowing hard. “I don’t see why you care. Why you would…given…we barely know each other.” She paused, carefully considering her words. “But it’s been a long time since someone cared,” she admitted quietly, almost as if she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Logan could feel the weight of her words hanging in the air. He reached out, his hand hovering just above her shoulder, but he stopped himself, dropping his hand before it made contact.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” he said, his voice a soft murmur. “I’m here.”

She gave him a small, hesitant smile, a hint of hope breaking through the walls she kept so carefully in place. “Thank you, Logan.”

He nodded, stepping back to give her space, though he didn’t want to leave. “Get some rest,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’ll… see you tomorrow.”

She nodded, watching him as he turned to go, lingering in the doorway as if part of her didn’t want to close the door just yet. As he walked back to his apartment, he felt something shift in him—a quiet, steady resolve to be there, to be someone she could trust.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan was pacing back and forth in the small, dingy apartment, so agitated that even Wade seemed annoyed for once. Wade lounged on the couch, a magazine in one hand and a look of pure exasperation on his face as he watched Logan wearing a path into the floor.

“Why are you like this?” Wade finally snapped, tossing the magazine aside. “Did your parents not love you, or something? Because this level of brooding is painful to watch, even for me.”

Logan shot him a glare, but he didn’t have a comeback this time. His usual sarcasm was buried under a mess of thoughts he couldn’t quite untangle. He ran a hand through his hair, his voice coming out quieter, almost hesitant. “It’s just… she actually seemed like she wanted to talk to me last night. Like, really talk.”

Wade rolled his eyes, folding his arms behind his head. “God, I don’t see how I keep missing your late-night heart-to-hearts in the hallway,” he said with exaggerated interest. “Sounds like you’re one step away from serenading her or something.”

Logan’s eyes kept drifting to the door, that nagging worry gnawing at him. He hadn’t heard her leave her apartment all morning, and he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something was wrong.

Finally, Wade sat up, giving him a pointed look. “Look, man, there’s only one way to stop acting like a lovesick teenager. Just go knock on her door. You’re driving me nuts over here.”

Logan hesitated, shifting his weight. Part of him hated the idea of just showing up unannounced, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of urgency. He needed to see her, to know she was okay. Before he could talk himself out of it, he gave Wade a grudging nod and headed for the door.

"Finally," Wade muttered behind him, smirking. "Go get her, tiger."

Logan ignored him, stepping into the dim hallway. He crossed the few steps to her apartment, his hand hovering just above the door. He took a breath, steadying himself, then knocked—softly at first, then louder when there was no response.

Silence.

He waited, his heartbeat picking up as seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity. He knocked again, pressing his ear to the door, straining to hear any movement inside. But there was nothing. No footsteps, no soft shuffle of her usual routine. An uneasy feeling crept over him. He hadn’t heard her leave that morning. Had he missed something? Was she—

Just then, he heard the familiar sound of footsteps echoing up the stairwell, and he turned, relief flooding him. But the relief was short-lived, quickly turning into confusion as he took in the scene.

She was coming up the stairs, but she wasn’t alone. Walking beside her was the guy from last night—the one her friend had set her up with. The guy was laughing, leaning a little too close to her, and Logan felt his jaw tighten instinctively. She had her arms crossed, her posture guarded but polite, and though she didn’t look particularly comfortable, she wasn’t pushing him away either.

Logan stood frozen, his hand still raised as if to knock, caught between relief and a prickling sense of jealousy. She looked up and noticed him, her eyes widening slightly in surprise.

“Logan,” she said, stopping on the landing. Her voice was a mix of surprise and something else he couldn’t quite place—maybe guilt, or hesitation.

The guy at her side glanced between them, raising an eyebrow. “Oh… hey,” he said, clearly picking up on the tension in the air. He smiled awkwardly, extending a hand. “I’m Jared. I, uh… guess you’re a neighbor?”

Logan didn’t take his hand, barely sparing him a glance. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and rough. His eyes were fixed on her, searching her face, trying to read her expression.

She shifted uncomfortably, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. “We… just ran into each other downstairs,” she explained, her gaze flicking between Logan and Jared. “He was just walking me up.”

Jared chuckled, clearly oblivious to the undercurrent in the air. “Yeah, thought I’d make sure she got back safe, y’know? This neighborhood’s not exactly the friendliest.”

Logan felt a surge of irritation, but he forced himself to stay calm, to keep his expression neutral. “She can handle herself,” he replied, the words coming out sharper than he intended. He saw her flinch and instantly regretted it, but he couldn’t help the tension coiling in his chest.

Jared blinked, clearly sensing he wasn’t welcome, and took a step back, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right, man. No need to get territorial,” he said with a forced laugh. “I’ll get out of your hair.” He turned to her, flashing a hopeful smile. “So… maybe we could catch up tomorrow? Grab a coffee or something?”

She hesitated, glancing briefly at Logan before nodding, though her smile looked a little forced. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll… let you know.”

Jared grinned, clearly taking that as a yes, and gave a little wave before heading back down the stairs. Logan watched him go, barely breathing until the sound of his footsteps faded completely. Only then did he turn to her, his expression softening as he searched her face.

“Did… you need something?” she asked, her gaze lingering on him, one eyebrow raised in quiet suspicion.

Logan cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to knock on her door, but now that he was here, his brain seemed to be working at half-speed.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and forcing himself to meet her eyes. “I was wondering if you had… y’know… some eggs I could borrow.”

Her expression didn’t shift, but he saw the faintest flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Eggs?” she repeated like she was testing the word.

Logan felt himself growing more flustered. “Yeah. Eggs. They’re… good for protein,” he added lamely, the words sounding as awkward out loud as they felt in his head.

She watched him for a moment, clearly trying to decide if she believed him or not. A small, skeptical smile played at the corner of her lips like she could see right through his excuse but was willing to humor him.

“Sure. I think I’ve got some,” she said, stepping aside to let him in. “Come in while I go grab them from the kitchen.”

Logan hesitated, then nodded, slipping past her into the apartment. The warmth of her space hit him immediately, and he found himself surprised by how… homey it was. The faint scent of vanilla and something floral hung in the air, and soft lighting cast a cozy glow over everything. It was nothing like the dingy, bare-bones apartment he shared with Wade. Where his walls were chipped and peeling, hers were lined with neatly hung prints and framed photographs, small touches that gave the place a warmth he hadn’t expected.

As she disappeared into the kitchen, he let his gaze wander, taking in the shelves along one wall, filled with books. Dozens of them, all stacked neatly, some with worn covers and dog-eared pages, like they’d been read and re-read over the years. He noticed a mix of genres—mystery novels, classic literature, a few non-fiction titles, and even some poetry. It was the kind of collection that spoke to someone who spent a lot of time alone, lost in worlds beyond these walls.

He moved closer to one of the shelves, fingers ghosting over the spines without touching. A few books were stacked horizontally, others arranged by height. There was a kind of organized chaos to it, a personal touch that made him feel like he was seeing a side of her he hadn’t glimpsed before. He felt a strange pang of… something. Envy, maybe, or admiration. This was her space, her sanctuary, carefully built to be hers. And here he was, intruding on it.

“Didn’t peg you for a reader,” her voice came from behind him, light and teasing.

Logan turned, a bit flustered, caught off guard by her sudden reappearance. She held a carton of eggs in one hand, watching him with that same amused expression, like she knew he was lying about the whole “egg” thing but was willing to let it slide.

“I, uh…” He scratched the back of his head, feeling like he’d been caught red-handed. “Not really. Don’t have time for it.”

She shrugged, giving him a small smile as she set the egg carton on the counter. “Reading isn’t for everyone.”

He nodded, still taking in her apartment, feeling a strange comfort settle over him in the warmth of her space. “It’s… nice in here,” he admitted, his voice gruffer than he intended. “Didn’t expect it to feel so… I don’t know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So what?”

“Homey, I guess,” he said, almost embarrassed to admit it. “My place… it’s nothing like this.”

A faint, sympathetic smile softened her face. “Well, your roommate doesn’t exactly scream ‘homey,’” she teased, glancing around as if imagining Wade sprawled across her carefully arranged furniture, disrupting the calm. “Not really surprised you don’t put much into decorating.”

Logan let out a low chuckle. “Yeah. Wade’s more… chaos than cozy.”

She laughed softly, a genuine, relaxed sound that made his chest feel unexpectedly warm. “I can’t even picture him reading a book.”

“Pretty sure he’d complain about the ‘small font’ and give up in five minutes,” Logan muttered, and she laughed again, a light, melodic sound that filled the space in a way that felt… right.

For a moment, they stood there in comfortable silence, the unspoken tension between them somehow lessened by the simple act of sharing a space. He glanced at the egg carton, feeling a little foolish now that he had no real reason to stay.

“Thanks for the eggs,” he mumbled, reaching for the carton but not quite moving to leave. “Didn’t need them, if I’m honest.”

She tilted her head, a knowing look in her eyes. “Yeah, I figured,” she said, her voice gentle but laced with amusement. “So… why did you come by?”

Logan hesitated, feeling a sudden vulnerability he wasn’t used to. “I guess… I just wanted to make sure you were okay. After last night, and then seeing you with that guy this morning…” He trailed off, running a hand over his face. “It just didn’t sit right with me.”

Her expression softened, and she looked down, fingers tracing absent patterns on the counter. “Jared,” she said as if the name left a sour taste. “Monica’s idea. She thinks I need to ‘put myself out there.’” She rolled her eyes, a faint bitterness creeping into her tone. “It’s not really my thing, but… I figured I’d try.”

Logan studied her, catching the flicker of doubt in her eyes. “You didn’t seem too thrilled with him,” he observed, trying to keep his tone casual.

She shrugged, her smile a little sad. “He’s… nice. I just don’t know if ‘nice’ is enough.” She glanced up, meeting his gaze, her eyes holding his for a moment longer than necessary. “I guess I’ve got my own walls. Maybe it’s easier to push people away than to… let them in.”

Logan felt his chest tighten, recognizing himself in her words. “Yeah. I know how that goes,” he murmured, his voice low. “People tend to… make assumptions, think they know you just because of how you look or act. Sometimes it’s easier to let them believe what they want.”

She nodded, her gaze dropping again, her fingers still tracing absent shapes on the counter. “And what do people assume about you?” she asked, almost too softly.

He swallowed, feeling a familiar pang of vulnerability that he usually kept buried. “They see… this,” he said, gesturing to himself, to the rough exterior, the scars that lined his knuckles, the tension that seemed to live in his shoulders. “And they think I’m nothing but that. Just… rough edges. An animal.”

She looked up, her gaze soft and understanding, and he felt that ache again, the need to be seen, really seen. “You’re not just that,” she said quietly, her words barely more than a whisper. “I can see that you're more than that…now.”

A warmth lingered between them, subtle but undeniable. Logan could feel it settling over him, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. Standing here, in her space, surrounded by traces of her life, he felt an unfamiliar sense of belonging—like, for once, he wasn’t just some outsider passing through.

She let out a small sigh, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Anyway,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, almost shy. “Thanks for checking on me.”

He nodded, swallowing back the impulse to reach out, to close the last inch of space between them. “Yeah. Anytime,” he said, his voice softer than he intended.

She led him to the door, holding it open as he stepped into the dim hallway. Logan hesitated, lingering just outside her apartment, feeling a strange reluctance to leave. The words were out of his mouth before he could second-guess himself.

“Would you… maybe want to come over?” He forced a small, awkward smile. “I’m sure Wade would love the company.”

She looked up at him, her expression caught between surprise and something softer. A small smile touched her lips, but she shook her head, a hint of apology in her eyes. “I would, but… being around people sort of… drains me.”

He watched her, sensing there was more she wasn’t saying, something fragile behind the simple explanation.

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the edge of the door, her gaze flickering up to meet his. “Not you, though,” she added softly, almost as if the words had slipped out without her permission. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away quickly. “Just… people in general. Introvert thing, I guess.”

Logan felt a flicker of something warm and unfamiliar in his chest. She hadn’t meant to single him out, but the admission hung in the air between them, as delicate and unsteady as a breath. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “No problem.”

She looked back up at him, a softness in her eyes that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, she was beginning to let him in. It wasn’t much—not yet—but it was enough to make his pulse quicken, to make him feel like he’d taken a step closer to something he’d been chasing without even knowing it.

“See you, Logan,” she whispered, her voice lingering in the quiet air, her eyes holding his for just a beat longer than necessary.

“See you,” he replied, his voice equally soft, reluctant. He took a step back, the warmth of her presence already beginning to fade, and gave her a small nod before turning away.

As he made his way down the hallway, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them—a door, barely open, but open nonetheless.

[bottleoflotion]

New year and new art i post when I get tunnelvision while drawing. So anyways, I'm posting my twst fan kid.

His name is Vitus Draconia, and Malleus and Miguel's (my Yuusona) eldest kid and only son.

He's an extrovert. But man, did this dude inherit Malleus' height and aura of intimidation, along with his inability to not overthink casual interactions. But that happens when both your parents were over 6 feet and your human dad died when you were like in your 50s.

He's going through a rebellious phase, something that Malleus wishes Lilia were here to help him with. But at least he has Uncle Sebek and Sebek's daughter, another half fae, to go along with him. Does not help that he's overly self-conscious due to attending a school of majority humans.

I like to think that since Miguel is 100% gonna die due to being human, he probably is the only one attached to his human side compared to his younger sisters... who probably hadn't hatched when Miguel died. He's more of a mediator because of how much his sisters fight over their human features. With how much he loves his human side, compared to those two who never got to meet their dad. He's not very good at dealing with arguments, but it's the thought that counts.

Miscellaneous Stuff about him and his family

Birthday is January 18th. Like both his dads.

198cm, probably won't grow more and is thankful. He's already tall enough.

Sorted into Diasomnia. Refuses Prefect status during his first year initially, but jumps when he learns his dad (Miguel) was like a prefect with his "pet cat" during his first year.

He's a big lover of his dad's old clothes and fashion. Will alter them with magic.

Attached to humans and their livelihoods. The human percentage of Briar Valley has gone up to 38%

Portraits of Miguel throughout the years decorate the castle. Along with other portraits of other deceased family members, like Grandpa Lilia and Uncle Silver.

A far cry from Malleus' mostly solitude upbringing. Malleus makes sure to be as involved in his life and somewhat of a helicopter parent due to that. Along with having to deal with 2 quirked up twin sisters who are wrecking the castle during their fights.

Hyped to go to NRC while Malleus had ptsd flashbacks and worries the entire time. While his youngest daughters chaos mellows down bc their older brother left them.

Tight with other Fae families, like the Zigvolts . Specifically with Sebek and his daughter. (I like to think she's the same age or younger. But both go to NRC the same year. I like to think that NRC became officially coed after almost 200 years.)

Attempts to keep close with descendants of other alumni of NRC.

Even met a couple of the original students his parents attended with when he was still a dragon baby.

Miguel is his Dad while Malleus is his Father and any nickname he can say to be "trendy" as humans call it.

Augh, i love fan kids. I wanna make more soon. And even build more on my Yuusona bc he's a 27 year old man forced to be the older brother to dozens of kids. Shout out to DTI Halloween update for those Horns and keeping them.

[barblaz-arts]

First things first, I love your art!!

I was wandering through tumblr to see if there's any great chaggie fanart, but here it is! ❤️

I really love how healthy and supportive their relationship is, and I hope we get to have more chaggie screen time in Season 2(waiting for the "get it" moment lol)

What kind of Chaggie moment do you hope yo see in season 2??

I hope you'll get to post more chaggie art in future! Love your art, keep up the great work!! ✨️

Also, love from Korea~

Thanks!

Oh man, there's a lot I wanna see

- a chaggie duet that isn't a reprise. More than Anything was a good place to start, but it was wayyy too short. One of the things I love about Hazbin is that we get to have canon gay duets sung by talented broadway stars. The only musical wlw duet I know of is "Take or Leave Me" which is so so good, but it's a break up song. Steven Universe only has the one song with Rupphire, but Im not a big big fan of it, especially since Ruby's VA isnt really a singer(which is fine!). I want more gay duets that are declarations/affirmations of love and I'm sure chaggie will deliver.

-I also want Charlie to get to have a turn at singing about Vaggie like Vaggie did. I mean, we're for sure getting that bcuz of the "sexy pop song" but I also want Charlie to sing a ballad about Vaggie. If the teaser that we saw where the voice actors for Charlie and Baxter(?) sing some modified lyrics of Carnilla and Vaggie's "Whatever It Takes" means they're going to reprise it, then I really really hope that's the case. If this is just them having fun, im gonna be so disappointed lmao

While I still stand by my many previous statements that claims of Charlie and Vaggie lacking the display necessary to be considered a couple is ridiculous, a flaw I did notice is the fact that we dont get to see Charlie show how much she loves Vaggie all that much, which I think isn't the writers' oversight and more of a deliberate obstacle that they'd be facing in the upcoming seasons. I get it! Charlie's got a lot of shit going on, but she needs to be able to balance her work and relationships if she doesn't want to lose either her dream or her girl or both! Like, you know that trope where the workaholic gets so absorbed in their work that they end up unintentionally neglecting their lover, and when they do realize that they've fucked up, they do their best to make up for it in any way they can? I want that. I want Charlie's turn to apologize to Vaggie for fucking something up.

And idk how likely this is, but I think a really good opportunity to do that is to have Velvette come in and make Charlie jealous. If you didn't see my previous posts about it, I just noticed that the Vees all have these twisted love for a Hazbin close to Charlie that they also sorta parallel. Vox has an obsessive hate boner for Alastor, and they're both demons related to entertainment media. Valentino is Angel's abusive situationship, and they're both big names in the porn industry. All we have left is Velvette, who is the "backbone" of the Vees and seems to be the brains of the team, and the closest equivalent to that is Vaggie who is the manager of the Hotel and Keeper of their Braincell. Plus if Vaggie having died in the 2010s and Charlie being 200+ yrs old is still canon, Velvette can gloat about the fact that she's around Vaggie's age and is younger and fresher than granny Morningstar. You cant tell me that isn't something she'd do, since that was like the thing she kept throwing in the other Overlords' faces.

- Charlie hasnt turned demon mode for Vaggie yet, and I really want that. I dont just want what we got in the final episode where Charlie's glaring at Lute while she's holding Vaggie. Yeah ok that was pretty great but I want more! I want hellfire! I want claws! I want the feral, scrappy Charlie from the pilot pretty please!

- I want Vaggie and Lucifer bonding over Charlie. I dont think Lucifer and Charlie's relationship is completely "fixed" after the one duet they had, and I'm really hoping Vaggie gets to have a part in mending their relationship by having her interact with Lucifer. I also really want the narrative to explicitly acknowledge all the parallels Lucilith have with Chaggie

- I promise this isn't just the horny speaking, but I really hope Erika saying that "Charlie and Vaggie can get it, and we might see them do so" really means we're getting an explicit Chaggie sex scene. Hear me out! So far in season 1, the only explicitly r-rated scene we have is the fucked up one with Valentino and Angel. It would be really great if the next r-rated scene is one that is done out of love, and what better way to do it than with the protags in a canon relationship? It would show that sex isn't inherently a bad thing, and that Charlie clearly doesnt believe that either

- i really want more flashbacks about Charlie and Vaggie before they got together. I wanna see Charlie when she still hopelessly crushed on the stranger she saved in the streets. I wanna see how Vaggie reacted to the fact that she's an angel falling in love with Hell's princess. At the very least, they really should consider publishing comics that could add to the lore that the budgeted run time cant cover.

[chenlezip]

tell your friends ♡

PAIRING : fratboy!haechan x reader

SUMMARY : you tell your friends you hate him but you can't get enough.

WARNINGS : smoker!reader + smoker!hyuck (my baddd), swearing, not proof read.. idk what else ngl.. >_<

A/N : literally just got this idea because im listening to music while writing and.. chase atlantic came on, heard that line and thought, hell yeah i know what i'm gonna write. also lil smau? idk? im also really craving a sex on the beach now.. *lets out a heavy sigh* beggars can’t be choosers..

might make a part two, who knows? let me know :3 i just wanted to post this and see how it goes .

and… here you are, stood outside a random club waiting for your friends to come meet you. you were clad in a cute jean mini skirt, a bralette with a small cardigan on and knee high boots; obviously paired with cute accessories and having your hair done nicely, what if you saw a cute boy? you had to be prepared.

as you waited, you had a look at all the people who were heading inside, they were dressed just as good. i guess this club is where all the attractive people go, huh? you thought to yourself before you noticed one man who looked oddly very familiar. fuck, it’s haechan.

haechan noticed you out the corner of his eye as he waited outside with a friend, smirking and nudging the boy beside him, eyeing your direction. the boy looked over and noticed you, he looked stunned almost, immediately turning back around to haechan and whispering. you wondered what they were talking about but before you could go over, you heard karina screaming your name.

“y/n! oh my god!” she smiled as she ran toward you, engulfing you into a tight hug. it’s been a while since you’ve all seen each other so it was nice to finally get to hang with your girls again. “i’ve missed you guys so much, ugh.. you all look so good!”

“as do you!! i can’t wait to get fucked up tonight, i’ve already pre booked a taxi so do nottt worry~ i’ve got us covered, it’ll be coming 2am so we should leave early just to make sure we get it alright,” giselle explained to you all as you nodded in return, “i can give you some money toward it when i’m not wasted - just let me know, okay?” you smile as she shook her head.

“no need y/n, it’s my treat, come on!” giselle dragged you and the girls inside, sitting in a booth and scouring through the drinks menu. “i don’t know what to get.. everything sounds good,” ningning mumbled as she looked at the rest of you, “anyone know what they’re getting?”

“i’m just gonna get a sex on the beach - always my go to,” you spoke up as you waited for the others to be done deciding. once you all were, you ordered and had them delivered to the table, thanking the waiter who brought them over.

──── ୨୧ ────

you excuse yourself from the girls for a moment, wanting some fresh air and to light up a cigarette. you were dying for one and the alcohol in your system wasn’t helping your case either. as soon as you stepped out the club, you felt the night air hitting you and you let out a soft sigh. the wind made you feel a little bit more sober. you spark up a cig and place it between your lips, inhaling and breathing in the smoke. oh, how you missed this.

“got a spare?” you recognise that voice from anywhere. you gaze up and see haechan standing just opposite you, a lazy grin on his face as he stared you up and down. you just give him the one you were just smoking and spark up another. “thanks.” he says as he leans against the wall beside you.

“no problem,” you respond coldly as you look away, trying to find anything other than him to look at but you can’t help your eyes from wandering back.. he looked good tonight. his floppy brown hair was slicked back nearly, his golden skin glistening under the street light that was outside the club, a leather jacket and his white shirt adorning his body. you swore to yourself the last time you saw haechan that you still hated him.. but he knows otherwise and deep inside, so do you.

“still claiming you hate me then?” he eyed you, turning to lean on his shoulder now. you cough, “what?” you didn’t expect him to ask you that out of the blue. “you tell your friends you hate me but i know you can’t get enough, y/n, you’re not very secretive with it, huh?” he blew smoke out into the air. you focused on the way his lips parted a little, his jaw.. his adam’s apple.

you shake your head, “you’re seeing things lee donghyuck, maybe you should see someone for these delusions?” he just laughed in your face and threw his (your) cigarette to the ground, “yeah.. maybe i should, huh? but i won’t if you come crawling back again tonight,” he says before stepping on it to put it out properly and walking back inside the club. you go on your phone after he’s left and quickly type something on twitter, posting it to your private account.

you decide to head back inside and you just can’t seem to get your mind off of him, your eyes wandering around the club to find him. you see he’s got a pretty girl slung around him, she’s pressing her body up against him. never mind, you definitely hate him, why were you even starting to like a frat boy anyway? hello?

[bugflies00]

people are saying this about c!quackity now and it's the same vibe that they were saying about c!wilbur after his finale (for the "utah = death" believers. Which im not. but its in that perspective).

the idea that a character wanting to die and feeling like it's their only outcome (whether because they feel it's deserved or because they want their suffering to stop. or both) does not. does not actually mean it is. you guys know that right. you understand. we don't need to go over the whole Watsonian vs Doylist thing do we. do we.

this isn't even me discussing whether the ending was an appropriate choice on cc!quackity's end (thats another post and one i have neither the interest nor energy to make), its about people using c!quackity's POV as a suicidal character to justify the Narrative Choice of making him kill himself. him FEELING it's his only outcome DOESN'T MEAN IT IS. do these people understand the implications of their words when they say these things and imply that a suicidal character feeling this means it's an accurate assessment.

and its Exactly what utah death believers would say about c!wilbur after his finale. Shit about how it was the only good outcome because he's hurt people and there's nowhere else for him to go. its like when people say "c!wilbur is a bad person..." -> mildly justifiable statement despite the very restrictive/binary view on morality "...because he said so" -> WHAT! WHAT!

Like these takes genuinely baffle me because most people i encounter on a daily basis on here, despite their sometimes abysmal takes, have an understanding of mental illness that is at least MARGINALLY better than this. "mentally ill guy hates himself so what he says about himself must be correct."

i dont understand what goes wrong that makes people say these things. Because this is truly not revolutionary stuff i'm saying here. like im pretty sure "if you have issues your brain will lie to you sometimes about who you are as a person" is like. General Understanding Of The World 101. so like. whatever. im gonna go play the sims 4

[thebunnednun]

Toast 4.

But do I look,

Like Him?

Pro Hero! Katsuki Bakugou x Prohero!Ex! Reader

Years after you walked out of his life, Katsuki can't stand how his mind won't let you go after all this time. And after your most recent phone call,

He doesn't think he ever will. Especially after meeting your secret daughter.

Who has his exact eyes.

Warning: Heavy angst, post break ups, crying Katsuki, meeting ex's (you).

Part one right here. Part 2 over yander Part 3 is here

Inspired by the song: Darling, I

Songs:

Full list on the ao3 chapter

Like Him <------ Tyler the Creator (Asuna over hearing everything.)

“My daughter.”

Katsuki felt his soul try to leave out his ass. 

You were still turned toward Asuna, smoothing down her hair and examining the dip-dyed tips of her braids as you fussed over her, completely oblivious to the chaos unfolding just behind you.

“You’ve got bring your coat with you to school,” you said, your tone equal parts affectionate and chiding. 

“And what did I tell you about after school junk food?”

Asuna grinned up at you, her sharp red eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“ Not to,” she said sweetly, though the giggle threatening to burst free ruined any attempt at sounding remorseful. You glanced down at the girl as her giggles finally started to subside, and her mischievous grin turned into something softer as she looked up at you. 

You ruffled her braids gently, your fingers lingering on the dip-dyed tips. The two of you looked almost like twins under the glow of the streetlights—same face, same posture, even the same teasing glint in your expressions. 

But then there were the eyes. 

Yours held warmth and wisdom, tempered by years of struggles and triumphs. Hers burned like twin embers, sharp and unrelenting, filled with the boundless energy of youth.

Katsuki couldn’t stop staring.

The resemblance between you two was uncanny. It wasn’t just the shared features; it was the way you both carried yourselves, that same blend of confidence and playfulness. The way her grin mirrored yours, the slight tilt of her head, even the way she gestured with her hands—it was like watching a younger version of you.

But it was her eyes that pinned him in place. 

Those sharp red irises locked onto him, and for a split second, the lightness in her expression dimmed. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line as she studied him. Katsuki felt the air shift around him as recognition dawned in her gaze.

She knew who he was.

Her glare was quick, a fleeting moment of defiance that made his chest tighten. 

It wasn’t hostility—not exactly. It was more like a warning, a challenge wrapped up in a teenage girl’s unimpressed stare. Katsuki, for all his brashness and bravado, found himself breaking eye contact first, scowling as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“ Brat ,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

Asuna didn’t let up. She leaned slightly toward him, the bouquet of flowers cradled in her arm like a shield, before quirking an eyebrow in a way that screamed the fuck you gonna do about it? Then, as if deciding he wasn’t worth her time, she turned her attention back to you, her expression softening once more.

You, oblivious to the silent exchange, gave the flowers in your hands another glance before passing them back to her. “Not bad,” you said with a teasing smirk. 

“You’re learning.”

The girl pouted dramatically. “I’ve always been good at picking flowers.”

“Sure you have,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “Just don’t think this gets you out of trouble.”

Her pout melted into a grin as she hugged the bouquet to her chest. “You’re not really mad, though,” she said confidently.

You sighed, shaking your head. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Behind you, Kirishima, who had been openly gawking, leaned over to Izuku and whispered loudly, “It’s like they cloned her, but gave her Katsuki’s eyes!”

Izuku blinked rapidly, still processing, before mumbling, “She really does look like them both, huh?”

Katsuki shot them a glare, his teeth grinding as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. 

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

The weight of your words hung in the air, and Katsuki felt like the ground had shifted beneath him. He stared at you, then at her, then back again, his mind scrambling to piece everything together.

Asuna, however, seemed completely unbothered by the tension. She beamed up at you, then spun toward the others, her energy as infectious as ever.

“It’s nice to meet you all!” she chirped, giving a little wave with her free hand.

Kirishima, still looking like he’d been hit over the head, managed a weak smile and an awkward, “Uh… hey there.” He squatted down and was still a little taller than the girl.

Izuku’s lips parted as if to say something, but he just nodded dumbly, his cheeks tinged pink with surprise.

Todoroki’s gaze lingered on Hikari, his usual calm exterior cracking just enough to reveal the faintest flicker of confusion. “She really does look like you,” he murmured.

“Yeah, well,” you said lightly, brushing a strand of hair from Asuna’s face.

“ She’s got good genes.”

Katsuki’s stomach churned. His hands twitched at his sides as he stared at the girl again, his mind flashing back to earlier that day. He hadn’t known then who she was, but now—now it made sense. Every sharp word, every defiant glare, every moment she’d stood her ground against him.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. 

She really was your daughter.

And as the girl’s mischievous grin returned, Katsuki realized with a jolt of clarity–

He wasn’t ready for this.

Kirishima lay frozen for a moment, his hands hovering uncertainly as he watched his best friend struggle to breathe. His eyes darted from Katsuki to you and Asuna, then back again, panic setting in. Finally, as Asuna let out another giggle, Kirishima made a snap decision.

“So, uh,” he said loudly, his voice almost too cheerful as he stepped forward, blocking your line of sight to the commotion. “Asuna, right? Cool name! So, uh, when’s your birthday?”

Asuna blinked, momentarily distracted by the question. “April 21st,” she said, tilting her head curiously.

You could’ve heard a snowflake drop.

“Nice, nice,” Kirishima said, nodding a little too enthusiastically. “What’s your favorite color?”

You glanced up briefly, arching a brow at Kirishima’s sudden interest in your daughter. “Bloody purple,” Asuna answered without missing a beat, her grin widening.

“Uh, cool, cool,” Kirishima said, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as he glanced nervously over his shoulder at Katsuki, who was still clutching his chest like his heart might explode. “And, uh, favorite food?”

“Mapo tofu,” Asuna said proudly. “Extra chili peppers. Gotta have the heat.”

Katsuki fell to his knees. 

His entire body trembling as if the world itself had flipped on its axis. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, and one hand was clutching his chest so tightly his knuckles were white. 

Izuku, with his ever-watchful eyes, was the first to react, darting forward with a panicked, “ Katsuki! ” He crouched beside him, gripping his arm to steady him.

Todoroki was right behind him, his calm mask slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of concern. Without a word, he grabbed Katsuki’s other arm, hoisting him back to his feet as though the blonde weighed nothing. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Todoroki whispered, his voice quiet but insistent.

You almost turned around to hear the commotion but Kirishima forced a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “You like spicy, huh? You and Katsuki have that in common—he’s all about the spice.” That had your attention back on your twin. 

Asuna's eyes flicked briefly toward Katsuki, who was now leaning heavily on both Izuku and Todoroki. A small smirk tugged at her lips as she added, 

“Oh yeah. Mom, I’ll be taking my hero license exam before Christmas break.”

“Really?” Kirishima said, trying desperately to keep the conversation going. “That’s awesome! Who’s helping you prepare?”

“Gramps,” Asuna replied casually, shrugging one shoulder.

“Gramps?” Kirishima echoed, blinking in confusion.

“Aizawa-sensei,” Asuna clarified, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s more like a hobo uncle, but I call him Gramps ‘cause he’s old and has the attitude to match.”

At that, Izuku’s head shot up, his eyes wide with realization. 

“ Wait ,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.  “I’ve seen her before.” His face turned an alarming shade of red as the pieces clicked into place, and he stammered, 

“She’s—she’s your—”

Todoroki, who had been silently observing, gave a slight nod, his expression as composed as ever but his eyes betraying a hint of smugness.

“I knew it,” he murmured.

Katsuki, however, couldn’t get a single word out. 

His breathing was shallow, his chest heaving as he struggled to process the scene in front of him. His gaze flicked from you to Asuna and back again, his mind replaying every interaction he’d had with the girl earlier that day. 

Her sharp tongue, her confidence, her fiery glare—it all made sense now.

“She’...,” he choked out, barely above a whisper.

Asuna, who had been watching him out of the corner of her eye, turned fully toward him. 

For a brief moment, her playful demeanor faltered, and she regarded him with a look that was equal parts curiosity and challenge. Her wine red eyes narrowed, the corners of her mouth twitching as though she were debating whether to say something.

Then, with a tilt of her head and a knowing smirk, it was like her eyes said, 

‘You’re slower than I thought.’

Katsuki’s jaw tightened, and for a second, it looked like he might argue. But before he could say anything, you finally turned around, noticing the way he was sagging between Izuku and Todoroki.

“Katsuki?” you asked, frowning as you stepped toward him.

“Don’t,”

He managed, holding up a hand to stop you. His voice was rough, strained, and he couldn’t quite meet your eyes. 

“Just—give me a minute.”

You hesitated, your concern evident, but Asuna tugged lightly on your sleeve, drawing your attention back to her. “He’ll be fine,” she said casually, though there was a glimmer of amusement in her gaze.

You sighed, ruffling her hair again before glancing back at Katsuki. 

“If you say so.”

As you turned your focus back to Asuna, Katsuki’s eyes lingered on the two of you. 

In the bright streetlights, the resemblance was undeniable. The way you fussed over her, the way she leaned into your touch—it was like looking at a version of you he’d never imagined but couldn’t look away from.

And for the second time in his life, Katsuki Bakugo didn’t know what the fuck to do.

The night air felt sharp against your skin, but it didn’t bother you as you glanced at the bag of snacks Asuna opened. She tilted it toward you with a casual shrug, revealing your favorite comfort snacks nestled among hers. You raised an eyebrow, amused.

“You even got mine?” you teased gently, cupping her face in your hands to study her more closely.

Asuna shrugged again, feigning indifference. 

“Yeah, well, you’re annoying when you’re hangry.”

Her deadpan delivery earned a soft laugh from you, though your hands lingered on her cheeks. Her warmth was a welcome contrast to the chill in the air, but it only made you notice the absence of a coat on her even more.

“Kirishima,” you said, turning slightly to glance at the redhead still hovering near Katsuki. 

“Can you give us a second?”

Kirishima perked up immediately. “Yeah, no problem!” he said, stepping back with exaggerated cheerfulness before noticing Katsuki still sitting on the pavement. He muttered something under his breath and quickly leaned down to help his friend up.

But Katsuki wasn’t cooperating. 

The moment Kirishima hauled him halfway to his feet, Katsuki’s knees buckled again, and he collapsed onto Todoroki, who let out an audible grunt and staggered under the unexpected weight.

Todoroki’s expression didn’t change much, but the slightly widened eyes and twitch at the corner of his lips screamed discomfort. He looked like a disgruntled dog toy that had been stepped on.

“Bakugo, get ahold of yourself,” Todoroki said flatly, trying to nudge him off without much success.

Izuku hovered nearby, looking like he wanted to intervene but wasn’t sure how. Meanwhile, Kirishima alternated between fretting over Katsuki and apologizing profusely to Todoroki.

You ignored their antics entirely, turning your attention back to Asuna. “Where’s your coat?” you asked, your voice dipping into that firm-but-gentle tone you always used when nagging her.

Asuna rolled her eyes but grinned. “I run hot, you know that.”

“Not good enough,” you muttered, already shrugging out of your own black coat. She groaned in protest as you draped it over her shoulders, immediately beginning to fuss with the sleeves. 

“ Moooom , seriously, I’ll overheat—”

“Too bad,” you interrupted, brushing off her complaints as you buttoned it up snugly. The veil you’d been wearing came off next, and you wrapped it around her neck as a makeshift scarf, your braids slipping free to frame your face in intricate, thick ropes.

“Thermals?” you asked, squinting at her. She sighed, defeated.

“Yeah, I’ve got them on.”

“Good,” you said, finishing the last button and tucking the veil securely under her chin.

It was then you noticed something new in her hair—a small, blue butterfly clip tucked into the braid nearest her face. You tilted your head, running a gentle finger over it. “What’s this? I don’t remember seeing this before.”

Asuna’s grin widened. “Eri gave me a matching set. She said butterflies are good luck.”

Your smile softened as you tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. 

“It suits you.”

Satisfied that she was as bundled as she’d allow, you tilted your head, your voice dipping lower. “How was school today?” Asuna hesitated, the bravado dimming slightly as she fiddled with the itchy edge of the veil. 

“It was okay . I stayed in the office with Nezu and Hound Dog most of the day.”

Your frown was immediate, though she quickly continued. “Aizawa let Midnight test me in the teacher’s lounge so I wouldn’t have to deal with people staring. She even paused the timer whenever I cried.”

You stilled, your chest aching at the thought. Without hesitation, you cupped her face again and leaned forward, pressing your forehead to hers.

“I’m proud of you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. 

Then you kissed her forehead, holding her close as your quirk instinctively warmed her.

Behind you, Izuku was visibly tearing up, his hand twitching toward his pocket. Katsuki, despite his earlier stupor, noticed and smacked Izuku’s hand down before he could pull out his phone to call his mom.

Katsuki barely registered the pain in his chest as he clutched at it, staring at you and Asuna. The sight of her—your daughter—was like a punch to the gut. She looked so much like you, but her sharp red eyes glared at him with an intensity that mirrored his own.

For a fleeting moment, recognition sparked between them.

He’d seen her before, hadn’t he? In a fleeting memory, a face in the crowd… 

And now, here she was, standing beside you like a living reminder of everything he’d lost.

“ Mom ,” Asuna whispered, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

You held her tighter, your warmth enveloping her entirely. 

This wasn’t about Katsuki, or even about you. 

It was about a girl who’d just lost her grandmother and was desperately trying to keep it together for her mom.

Katsuki’s throat tightened, and he looked away. There was no way he’d bring up the past now—not when it was so painfully clear how much healing still needed to happen.

The rustling of plastic bags broke the quiet hum of the evening as you reached into the convenience store bag. Pulling out a pack of tissues, you handed it to Asuna, who immediately sidled closer, using you as a human shield. 

Her eyes darted past your shoulder, scanning the guys as if they might jump her with questions. You couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips as you fished out an unopened water bottle next, passing it to her.

“Drink,” you urged softly, tucking a stray braid behind your ear.

Asuna unscrewed the cap and tilted her head back, draining the bottle in one go. The hollow crackle of the plastic bottle echoed briefly before she sighed, lowering it and pressing her forehead against your shoulder. 

“Can we dip, please ?”

Her deadpan tone paired with her abrupt word choice made you laugh. “Selective vocabulary strikes again,” you teased, but nodded, rubbing her back gently. Turning to the group, you called out, 

“Alright, we’re heading out. Good night, everyone!”

Kirishima, who had finally managed to get Katsuki upright, grinned, his arm slung securely around the still-unsteady blond. But the moment Katsuki registered your words, he surged forward, his movements stiff but determined.

“I’ll walk you back,” he said firmly, his voice quieter than usual but still carrying that telltale grit.

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Kirishima, Todoroki, and Izuku all moved in unison like an impenetrable wall of intent.

“Not happening,” Kirishima said, his voice chipper but resolute. “Too late for that,” Todoroki added coolly. Izuku, ever the diplomat, gave you an apologetic smile. “It’s safer this way.” You huffed in mock frustration, rolling your eyes.

“You guys act like I can’t handle myself,” you said, throwing them a playful glare.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to,” Kirishima countered, his voice kind but firm. He stepped forward and hit the button for the crosswalk with his knuckle, grinning back at you like he’d done you a great favor.

Asuna sidled in front of you, linking her arm with yours as the walk signal lit up. 

The small group fell into step behind you, their quiet chatter blending with the distant sound of traffic as you made your way to the ramen shop across the street. When you arrived, the warm light spilling from the restaurant’s windows revealed a familiar figure standing outside. 

Aizawa was leaning against the doorframe, his ever-present scarf hanging loosely around his neck. Before you could say anything, Asuna lit up and bolted past you. 

“Eri!”

The teen barely had time to react before Asuna scooped her up, spinning her around in a hug. Eri laughed, her arms wrapping tightly around Asuna’s neck, her pink butterfly clip catching the light.

Inside, the members of Class 1-A were seated at a long table, their chopsticks halfway to their mouths as they stared in stunned silence. You followed Asuna into the shop, offering a sheepish smile. 

“Oh, I forgot to introduce y'all,” you said casually, gesturing to Asuna. 

“This is my daughter.”

The room fucking exploded.

Chopsticks clattered onto plates. Spoons hit the floor. Forks slid from bowls of ramen. Questions flew at you from every direction.

“Wait, what?!”

“You have a daughter!”

“She’s so cool!”

“She’s so pretty !!”

“SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER?!”

“Does she have a quirk?”

You let Asuna field most of the questions, stepping back and observing her with a quiet sense of pride as she answered effortlessly, dodging the ones she didn’t want to answer with a quick wit you knew she’d inherited from her….

Anyway.

When the questions began veering toward you, you expertly deflected them with a smile. “Thanks for the fun time, everyone. I’ll see you later. Have a good night!” 

Aizawa stood with Eri as you turned to leave, but not before Kirishima elbowed Katsuki so hard you heard the thud of contact. 

Katsuki let out a series of sharp, hot pops in response, glaring daggers at the redhead.

“Dude, say something to her,” Kirishima hissed, leaning closer.

Katsuki shot him a look that could melt steel, but before anyone could intervene further, he stepped forward, his gaze fixed firmly on you.

“I needa talk to you,” he said, his voice strained.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Alright,” you said, turning to Asuna. “I’ll be right back. Eri, keep an eye on her for me?” Eri nodded eagerly, her smile wide. 

“Got it!”

Asuna rolled her eyes playfully, catching the purse Aizawa handed you with an effortless snatch. “Egg rolls for home?” she asked, already fishing through the bag for cash.

You chuckled. “Go for it.”

Her cheer echoed behind you as you stepped outside with Katsuki. He held the door open for you, his movements a little stiff, and you bit your tongue, holding back a quip as you followed him toward Kirishima’s truck.

The cool air wrapped around you again, but the tension in the space between you and Katsuki burned hotter than any flame. He stopped a few steps away, turning to face you fully. His crimson eyes bore into yours, raw and intense, like he was trying to read every secret written on your face.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to fiddle with your braids as you stood there, waiting for him to speak.

The air between you both felt electric, tense with everything unsaid.

 Katsuki shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands flexing open and closed as if trying to grasp for words that refused to come. 

His chest felt tight, his heart hammering like it wanted to punch its way out. Danger, danger, danger, his instincts screamed, but he was already too far gone to retreat.

“I...” His voice cracked slightly, and he grit his teeth, frustrated at his own hesitation. 

“I want to say first—I’m sorry. Again. For making this about the past when... when you’re goin’ through so much grief.”

You tilted your head, your brows knitting together slightly as you studied him. 

“But...?” you prompted, the single word cutting through the cold like a blade.

Katsuki swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. He wanted to ask, needed to ask, but the words stuck, heavy and stubborn on his tongue. 

“I... didn't know you had a daughter...” His voice faltered, and he clenched his fists at his sides. 

He couldn’t even say it.

You caught the hesitation, your expression shifting. Slowly, you reached up and flicked one of your braids over your shoulder, the gesture calm and deliberate despite the fire sparking in your gaze. 

“No one knows,” you began, your voice steady but low. “Except for Aizawa, Eri, some UA staff, and Hitoshi.”

“ Hitoshi? ” 

The name hit him like a shockwave, bringing a flood of memories rushing back. “Bag check, Shinso ?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

You nodded, and Katsuki’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. Memories of a younger Shinso flashed through his mind—a quiet, sharp-eyed kid who always seemed to linger around you, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

Katsuki closed his eyes and swallowed hard while a shuttered breath passed through him. 

“Oh. Is he—”

“No.”

Your answer was immediate, cutting him off sharply. 

His mouth snapped shut, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way you said it, the edge to your tone, the fire now blooming in your irises. It hit him all at once, the realization of just how much you’d been holding back.

You stood there, staring at him, your patience visibly fraying. Katsuki could see it in the set of your jaw, the tightness in your shoulders, and the way your gaze pinned him in place. Your quirk always revealed itself in moments like these, when your emotions ran too high to be contained, the fiery glow in your eyes a warning as clear as any explosion.

“No,” you repeated, quieter this time, but no less firm. “He’s not her father.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, as if daring him to push further.

Katsuki’s throat worked as he tried to form a response, but he came up empty. He could only stare at you, his crimson eyes searching yours for something—answers, forgiveness, clarity—but finding nothing he could grasp.

You took a shaky breath, your chest rising and falling as emotions swirled hot and heavy inside you. 

The weight of the last few days, the confrontation in the ramen shop, and now this conversation—it was all too much. Your fingers twitched at your sides as you fought the urge to fidget, knowing full well that he was watching every little movement.

Fucking annoyed you as much as the last time it happened. 

And yet, as much as you tried, you couldn’t read his expression. His eyes, normally so fierce and direct, were shadowed with something unreadable. 

Indifference ? Regret ? 

You couldn’t tell.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the cold air biting at your skin as the silence stretched. Katsuki finally took a small step forward, his hands still clenched but his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Then... who?”

The question hung there, fragile and uncertain, and you blinked, the glow in your eyes dimming slightly. But you didn’t answer—not yet. Instead, you crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze hardening.

“That’s not a question you get to ask,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the emotions threatening to crack through. “Not tonight.”

Katsuki flinched at your words, but he didn’t argue. For once, he didn’t try to push past the boundary you’d drawn. Instead, he just nodded, his shoulders sagging slightly as he stepped back, giving you space.

“Alright,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of a distant car horn. “Alright.”

You turned away first, heading back toward the restaurant where Asuna and Eri were waiting. But Katsuki stayed where he was, staring after you as if the cold air might carry the answers he hadn’t been brave enough to ask for.

“WAIT!”

The cold night air pressed in around you, biting at your skin as you turned back to Katsuki. His voice had been sharp, desperate enough to cut through the haze of your exhaustion. You were so tired, worn to the bone by the last few days, and yet here you were again—caught in another conversation that you weren’t sure your heart could handle.

Katsuki stood a few feet away, his shoulders squared but his eyes uncertain. There was something raw in the way he looked at you, something that almost made you falter. But you didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze narrowing in a way you knew would keep him at arm’s length.

“Why didn’t you tell the group about her?” he asked, his voice low but carrying the weight of every unspoken question he’d been holding back.

Your jaw tightened, and you let the silence hang between you for a moment, tapping your foot against the cracked pavement in that telltale rhythm of frustration. It was a habit you couldn’t break, one that Katsuki clearly recognized. His crimson eyes flicked down to your tapping foot and back up, watching you like a man waiting for a storm to hit.

Finally, you let out a sharp breath and answered curtly, 

“Because of who her father is. It was for her own safety. I didn’t know she was going to pop up like this, so I hope that answers any follow-up questions.”

Your tone was clipped, leaving no room for argument, but Katsuki didn’t back down. He breathed out slowly, the hot cloud of his breath dissipating into the cold air. His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered your words. Then, he took a step forward.

Instinctively, you stepped back.

It was a sick, familiar dance, one y’all hadn’t realized you’d both fallen into so easily. 

He moved closer; you retreated. The space between you felt like a battlefield, charged with old wounds and unspoken truths. Katsuki’s frustration was palpable, etched into every tense line of his body, but he didn’t push harder. Not yet.

He just watched you, his crimson eyes flickering with something unreadable. And for the first time in a long while, he saw a reflection of yourself in him—of every time you’d tried to get closer, only for him to shift the goalposts, to move just far enough away that you couldn’t reach him.

It hit him like a frozen bread slice. 

That’s what this was. 

That’s how you’d felt every single time he’d held back. He could feel it now, the weight of emotions he couldn’t name sitting heavy on his chest. Feelings weren’t just fleeting thoughts—they were messy, tangled things that married the mind and the heart together.

Married.

The thought struck him, sharp and sudden, and his eyes darted to your hands, to your neck, as if searching for proof he already knew wasn’t there. 

Still, the idea clawed at him, refused to let go. 

Finally, he lifted his head again, his expression open and almost lost.

“ I didn’t know you got married ,” Katsuki murmured, his voice rough and cracking like dry wood.

The neon lights of the ramen shop cast a soft glow over you both, their warm colors a stark contrast to the icy air around you. Him, in the dark glow of the windows and green of the convenience store. You, bathed in the red and purple of the ramen shop. 

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still.

Your eyes widened in shock, your breath catching audibly. And then silence fell, heavy and unyielding. The seconds dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity as the weight of his words settled between you.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. And for a brief, fleeting moment, Katsuki thought he might have been wrong to ask.

But then, finally, you spoke, your voice steady and clear despite the whirlwind of emotions behind it.

“I didn’t.”

Two words. That was all. 

But they hit like a detonation, shaking the fragile ground you both stood on.

Katsuki’s mouth opened slightly, as if to say something, but no sound came out. He stared at you, his crimson eyes wide with shock, confusion, and something else—

Something deeper.

You stood firm, your feet planted on the cold pavement as you crossed your arms tighter over your chest. Despite the chill, your cheeks felt hot, the weight of his gaze like a physical touch against your skin. 

And yet, you didn’t back down. 

You couldn’t.

For the first time since this conversation started, it felt like the roles had shifted. Katsuki was the one left floundering, scrambling to make sense of what you’d said. And you... you were finally the one holding your ground.

But as you stared at him, as the silence stretched on and the distance between you felt both infinite and nonexistent, you couldn’t ignore the pang in your chest. 

Because no matter how much you tried to steel yourself, there was still a part of you that remembered—remembered how warm and safe he used to feel, how easy it had been to curl up in his chest and let the rest of the world fade away.

And yet, here you were, the space between you wider than it had ever been.

The cold nips at your skin, sharp and unrelenting, as Katsuki steps closer. You could feel the heat of his presence, the weight of him pressing into the fragile boundaries you’d erected between yourself and the rest of the world. 

Step by step, he closed the distance, and step by step, you backed away, your arms crossed tighter against your chest like armor.

You didn’t realize you were nearing the curb until the edge of it bit into the heel of your shoe. 

The stumble was slight, but it jolted through you, a stark reminder of how close he’d pushed you to the edge—literally and figuratively. Katsuki noticed, of course, his crimson eyes narrowing with the sharpness of a predator, but he didn’t stop.

"Hey, I just..." His voice cracked slightly, and he exhaled heavily, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "I need to know. Is her father—"

"Stop." 

Your voice came out like a whip, sharp and cold. Your arms tightened further across your chest, and you held your ground despite the gnawing urge to retreat further. 

"You’re going too fucking far, Katsuki."

His jaw worked as if grinding down his words, his teeth clenched tight. But the frustration in his eyes only grew hotter. “I just want to know if he’s even—”

“Enough!” 

You snapped, and your voice rang out louder than you intended. For a moment, you saw the faintest flicker of surprise in his expression, but it didn’t last.

“Does he even know?” Katsuki shot back, his voice rough and biting. 

“Does her dad even know she exists?!”

Your entire body stiffened, the heat of anger flashing through you like a wildfire. The words tumbled from your mouth before you could stop them, burning like acid on your tongue.

“That asshole doesn’t deserve to know.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Katsuki froze, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. His crimson eyes searched yours, wide with shock and something else—something softer, something heavier. 

Katsuki was lost.

Your throat tightened, and you turned your face away, a trembling hand swiping quickly under your eye. The motion was small, almost imperceptible, but it betrayed you nonetheless. The vulnerability of it all—of him seeing you like this, of him pushing you so far—made your chest ache with an unbearable weight.

Katsuki took advantage of the moment, of your gaze pulling away from him, and closed the distance. 

You could feel him stepping closer, his warmth drawing nearer, and the air felt too thick, too suffocating. 

Your eyes shifted to where Asuna and Eri were sitting at a table near the ramen shop window, their little faces glowing in the neon light as they giggled and shared egg rolls.

Hitoshi placed a steaming bowl of ramen in front of Asuna, ruffling her hair as she swatted his hand before giving him an eager grin. Aizawa lingered by the doorway, looking half-exasperated as Denki animatedly gestured with wild abandon, no doubt recounting some chaotic tale about frozen bread. 

The scene was warm, domestic, and far too normal for the tempest swirling inside you.

“ You don’t get to come back and ask me things like this ,” you said, your voice quieter but no less firm as you turned back to him.

Katsuki’s gaze lingered on the scene for a moment longer before snapping back to you. His brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a hard line as if he wanted to argue. But something in your expression stopped him, something in the way your eyes glimmered with a mixture of anger and exhaustion.

You wanted to take another step back. 

You wanted to keep retreating, to put as much distance as possible between you and this man who had once been your everything. 

But the curb was at your back, and the thought crossed your mind to step into the street, to show him just how far you were willing to go for a sliver of space.

Before you could act on the impulse, Katsuki did something unexpected.

He stepped back.

It wasn’t a stumble, wasn’t hesitant or unsure. 

It was deliberate, a single step backward that left a noticeable gap between you. His hands balled into fists at his sides, the tension in his shoulders unrelenting, but he didn’t close the distance again.

You stared at him, your breath coming in uneven puffs of condensation, and for the first time in what felt like ages, there was a fragile kind of silence between you.

The frigid air bit at your skin as you stared at Katsuki. It wasn’t just the cold that made you shiver, though. 

The weight of his gaze, the anger barely hidden behind his furrowed brows, and the way he seemed to tower over the moment—it all made you feel exposed in ways you couldn’t afford right now. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, a flimsy shield against everything unraveling between you.

Katsuki wasn’t moving. His boots were planted firmly on the ground, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as though anchoring himself. You could see the storm brewing in his eyes, the frustration and confusion tearing him apart. You could practically hear the words he wasn’t saying.

"Tomorrow," he said finally, his voice rough and strained. "Park. Noon."

You blinked at him, your lips parting to speak, but the words stuck in your throat.

Katsuki’s jaw worked, his teeth grinding audibly. "For the pictures," he added, his voice sharp but quieter.

You felt the tightness in your chest ease ever so slightly, but only because it gave you something concrete to grasp onto, something simple. "Fine," you replied curtly, nodding. "During lunch."

For a moment, neither of you moved. It felt like you were standing on opposite planks, balancing on a precarious structure. The slightest shift from either of you could send the other tumbling, and neither seemed willing to make that first move.

Katsuki’s voice broke the silence, hoarse and raw. "You’re trying to do everything on your own, aren’t you?"

Your lips tightened, and you looked away, your gaze drawn back to the ramen shop window where Asuna and Eri were laughing. Their hands were messy with soy sauce, and Hitoshi was playfully nudging Asuna’s chopsticks toward the bowl while Aizawa kept one eye on the scene and the other on Denki, still ranting.

"I’m her mother," you said finally, your voice low but firm. 

"It’s my job to protect her, to do what’s best for her."

"And what about you ?" Katsuki snapped, taking a single step closer, the plank beneath him groaning under the weight of his frustration. 

"What about what’s best for you ?"

Your eyes whipped back to him, narrowing. "I don’t have the luxury of thinking about just myself," you shot back, your voice trembling with the effort to hold steady. "Not when I have her, not when I have everything else to keep in line."

"That’s bullshit," he growled, his fists trembling at his sides. "You’re—"

You cut him off, your voice sharp enough to slice through the tension. 

" Don’t . Don’t pretend to understand what it’s like to juggle all of this, Katsuki. You wouldn’t get it."

He flinched, just barely, but you saw it. His expression shifted into something softer, more raw, and the intensity of it made your stomach twist.

"You think I don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re gonna snap under the weight of it all?" he said quietly, his voice dropping into something almost pleading. 

"Ya think I don’t know how much it hurts to have to hold everything together when all you wanna do is fall apart?"

Your throat tightened, and you looked away again, your arms uncrossing just enough for your hands to rest at your sides. You clenched your fists, willing your resolve to hold, but his words burrowed under your skin.

"I don’t have that option," you whispered, barely audible over the hum of the city around you.

Katsuki exhaled hard, his breath clouding the air. He didn’t argue this time. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, his frustration simmering just below the surface.

"You deserve better," he muttered, almost too low for you to hear.

You glanced back at him, your gaze steady but weary. Then, your lips curved into a sad smile as your eyebrows pursed together in grievance. A bittersweet chuckle escaped your breath,

“Yeah, I should’ve chosen better, huh?”

Katsuki’s heart stopped.

The weight of your words settled heavily, neither of you willing to move or send the other crashing. It was a delicate balance, but at least for now, it held.

"Tomorrow," you repeated, your voice softer this time. 

"Noon."

Katsuki nodded, stepping back finally, giving you the distance you craved. His hands shoved deep into his pockets, and his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned away.

As you watched him go, you couldn’t help but feel the tension still thrumming in the air, like the strings of a song left unfinished.

The sudden burst of energy from the ramen shop felt like a pressure valve had been released. 

Kirishima, grinning but clearly on a mission, bounded out first with Aizawa close behind, his sharp eyes scanning the street. Behind them, Eri and Asuna trailed, the former clutching a half-eaten egg roll while Asuna looked around with wide, curious eyes. Shinsou followed last, his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed but his gaze keen, observing everything.

You barely had a moment to gather yourself before Asuna caught sight of you. Her face lit up like the neon signs above, and she sprinted toward you, arms outstretched. 

You tensed instinctively, catching her as she all but threw herself into your arms. The warmth of her body against yours was grounding, and you clutched her tightly, spinning her once to hear the delighted giggle escape her lips.

Aizawa approached with a measured pace, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets. 

“Everything alright? ” he asked, his tone low but concerned.

You nodded, not trusting your voice yet, and pressed a kiss to Asuna’s temple. She squirmed happily, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air. 

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though the words felt heavier than you intended.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Izuku step out, his gaze flitting between you and the rest of the group. “Mina wanted to know if she could sleep over tonight,” he said, his voice gentle. 

“To keep you company.”

You hesitated for just a second before nodding. “That sounds nice,” you said, offering a small, grateful smile. Izuku nodded back, his concern evident, before he ducked back inside to deliver the message.

Todoroki stepped closer, his expression neutral but his eyes studying you intently. “Is there anything I could do for you?” he asked. 

You nodded again, this time with a little more conviction. “Yeah. Could you let everyone know goodnight for me? I’ll see them later.”

Shoto inclined his head, ever the picture of grace. “Of course.” He turned, but not before casting a pointed glance toward Kirishima, who had Katsuki in a firm grip, dragging him back up the street. Katsuki’s expression was dark, his jaw set tight as he fought against Kirishima’s determined hold.

With a polite bow, Todoroki said goodnight to Eri and Asuna before slipping back inside. The door swung shut behind him, muffling the warm chatter from within the ramen shop and leaving only the chill night air between you and the others.

You adjusted Asuna in your arms, her fingers playing with the ends of your hair. Eri stood by Shinsou, who offered her a lazy smile as he handed her a paper crane he’d folded from a receipt. Aizawa lingered nearby, his gaze flicking between you and Katsuki as if assessing the situation.

Kirishima finally reached you, his grip firm on Katsuki’s arm. “Got him,” he said lightly, trying to inject some humor into the tension, though his smile faltered when Katsuki pulled his arm free with a sharp jerk.

Katsuki stood there, his breathing uneven, his crimson eyes locked onto yours. There was something raw in his gaze, something unspoken that made your chest tighten painfully. You didn’t want to do this—not now, not in front of everyone.

‘I’m gonna pack my things and leave you behind,’ 

You thought bitterly, the lyrics echoing in your head as you stared him down. The words felt like they were burning through your veins, but you didn’t dare say them aloud. Instead, you kept your voice steady. 

“I told you we’d talk tomorrow, Backugou.”

Katsuki clenched his fists in his pockets, his lips parting as if to argue, but then his gaze flicked to Asuna in your arms. Her face half buried in your coat but one ruby eye watching him carefully. Your hand rubbing her back in a soothing manner. Then he thought of Rita. The fight seemed to drain out of him, and he exhaled sharply, turning his head away as if the sight of you hurt.

‘Let me go.’

‘Let me go, so I can let you go.’

‘Let me go, so I can finally get you out of my head.’ 

‘Let me go, so I can finally let you free myself.’ 

'Let me go, so I can finally be free.'

'Please don't let me go.'

You wanted to scream. 

But you stayed silent, clutching Asuna tighter, using her steady warmth to keep yourself from crumbling. Eri tugged at Shinsou’s sleeve, asking something in a soft voice. Shinsou nodded and guided her toward Aizawa, murmuring something about getting her home. 

Aizawa hesitated for a moment, his gaze heavy on you before he finally nodded, giving you space.

Kirishima cleared his throat awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess we’ll head back inside,” he said, his usual cheer muted. He gave you a nod before dragging Katsuki back a step, though Katsuki didn’t resist this time.

You watched them retreat, your heart pounding painfully against your ribs. Asuna leaned back to look at you, her hand cupping your cheek. 

“Mama, are you okay?”

You kissed her forehead, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” you lied. You glanced back at Katsuki one last time before turning toward her fully, determined to leave the broken pieces of this night behind you.

The tension hung thick in the air, clinging to your every breath as you tried to steady yourself. A hand landed lightly on your shoulder, and you turned to see Shinsou, his violet eyes steady but kind. 

"I'll drive you home," he said quietly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Aizawa will probably call you later.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you smoothed a hand over Asuna’s hair. “Alright,” you murmured, pulling yourself together. Shinsou reached into the bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a takeout bag. 

“Got your usual,” he said, offering it with a slight smirk. “Figured you’d need it.”

Your stomach clenched, not from hunger but from the way Katsuki’s gaze flared at the sight of the bag. His jaw tightened, and you could almost see the flicker of heat behind his eyes. Shinsou, unbothered, simply handed you the bag like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough for Asuna to catch on. She rattled the convenience store bags on her wrists, drawing attention away as she chimed, “I got the drugs.”

You smiled at her, grateful, before lightly pinching her side as she squealed, and then made the mistake of looking at Katsuki again. 

He was still standing there, his chest rising and falling with a deliberate slowness as if he were forcing himself to breathe. His crimson eyes met yours, holding them for a beat too long before he nodded curtly.

“Goodnight,” he said, the words low and controlled. He glanced at Asuna, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly.

Now they were staring at each other. 

Katsuki’s eyes roamed over Asuna’s face, a mosaic of features that mirrored yours and yet held something wholly her own. Those bright vermillion eyes—the same shade as his—caught his attention, and for a moment, he looked almost lost, like he was piecing together a puzzle he didn’t know he was holding.

Asuna’s expression, on the other hand, was a mix of defiance and thinly veiled disgust. Her brows furrowed, her lips pressed into a tight line, but she held his gaze, committing it to memory as though it were a necessary evil. The air between them was electric, charged with unspoken questions and tangled emotions neither seemed willing to voice.

It was strange.

You cleared your throat, breaking the moment. “Goodnight, Kirishima,” you said, turning to the redhead who stood a few feet back, trying to look inconspicuous but clearly on edge.

He smiled warmly, a balm to the tension. “Goodnight. All of you,” he said. Then, looking at Asuna, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hero card, passing it to her with a reassuring grin. 

“Call if you need anything, alright?”

Asuna stared at the card for a moment before taking it with a light nod. 

“Thanks,” she said sweetly, turning to leave with you. But as you walked toward Shinsou’s sleek black Mustang, her hands shot behind her back, and she flashed both middle fingers toward Katsuki and Kirishima.

You barely caught the motion, her defiant smirk fading into feigned innocence by the time you glanced at her. Shinsou, already at the car, opened the door for you and Asuna. 

“Ladies first,” he quipped, gesturing with a mock bow.

Asuna climbed in without hesitation, sliding into the passenger seat and tossing the bags beside her. You followed, settling into shotgun as Shinsou closed the door with a quiet finality.

Katsuki and Kirishima were still standing there as Shinsou pulled onto the street, the Mustang’s engine purring like a contented cat. You didn’t look back, but Asuna did, her gaze lingering on the shrinking figures in the rearview glass.

The silence in the car was thick but not suffocating, and you let your head rest against the cool window, the takeout bag clutched in your lap. Shinsou glanced at you in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable but his presence grounding.

“Ready to call it a night?” he asked, his voice cutting through the quiet. You closed your eyes and exhaled, feeling the weight of the evening settle over you. 

“ Yeah ,” you whispered, the word carrying more exhaustion than you intended.

As the city lights blurred past, you reached back to squeeze Asuna’s hand, grateful for her warmth and resilience. Whatever this mess was, you’d figure it out. For her. 

For both of you.

The Mustang’s tail lights disappeared into the night, leaving Kirishima and Katsuki standing under the dim glow of the ramen shop’s sign. The street was quiet except for the occasional rumble of a passing car and the faint hum of city life in the distance. Kirishima let out a low whistle, his hands on his hips as he turned to look at Katsuki.

“ Damn ,” Kirishima muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “That kid’s got some fire in her. Just like you, man.”

Katsuki didn’t respond. His eyes were locked on the spot where the Mustang had vanished, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. His hands hung at his sides, twitching with leftover adrenaline and something he couldn’t quite name.

“You’re gonna burn yourself out if you keep this up,” Kirishima said gently, stepping closer. “C’mon, man. Let’s get you out of here. My truck’s right here. You can crash at my place tonight.”

Katsuki finally turned his head, meeting Kirishima’s steady gaze. His eyes burned with exhaustion and something deeper—something raw and unspoken. But he nodded, his shoulders slumping just enough to show he was done fighting, at least for now.

Kirishima clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small, reassuring shake before heading toward the truck. “I already took care of the squad's bill,” he called over his shoulder, trying to keep the mood light. 

Katsuki followed in silence, his legs feeling like lead as he climbed into the passenger seat. He slumped against the seatback, his head resting against the window. His skin felt tight, his throat dry. He didn’t say a word as Kirishima slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The truck rumbled to life, and Kirishima glanced at him before pulling onto the road. “You good?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“ Yeah ,” Katsuki muttered, though he didn’t sound convincing. He didn’t feel convincing either. His body ached, and his head was a mess, tangled in thoughts he couldn’t untangle if he tried.

As the truck rolled through the city, Katsuki stared out the window. The neon signs, the glow of streetlights, and the occasional flash of a passing car reflected on the glass, blending into a kaleidoscope of colors. The city moved on, oblivious to the storm raging inside him.

The last 24 hours replayed in his head like a movie stuck on a loop. 

You. Asuna. Shinsou. The confrontation. The questions. The overwhelming emotions that had left him spinning. And those last two hours—those played louder than anything else. Your face. The way your voice cracked when you spoke to him. The way you looked at Asuna, at Shinsou, at him. He couldn’t shake it. 

Couldn’t shake you .

His fists clenched in his lap as he thought of you with someone else, of the life you’d built after him. The idea that you’d given your heart, your trust, to someone who had burned you. The father of your child. A child who shared his crimson eyes.

Asuna

‘Did Asuna have siblings?’  

Katsuki didn’t think so. 

But he didn’t know anymore. 

He didn’t know what to think about anything.

Katsuki let out a long breath, his gaze shifting upward, past the skyline and the glowing city lights, to the faint glimmer of stars above. They seemed so far away, so out of reach, like everything he wanted but couldn’t have.

Kirishima’s voice broke the silence. “Hey, you’re not gonna pass out on me, are you?”

Katsuki grunted, his head tipping slightly in acknowledgment, but he didn’t answer.

As the truck turned onto the highway, the steady rhythm of the tires against the road filled the cab, a soothing backdrop to the chaos in his head. Katsuki blinked slowly, his eyes heavy, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him.

He let his gaze drift back to the stars for a moment longer before closing his eyes. The last thing he saw was the faint shimmer of light on the horizon. Then he let the darkness take him, the sound of the road lulling him into a restless sleep.

—

The house was warm and alive with the gentle hum of the washing machine and the faint sound of a true-crime podcast Shinsou had absentmindedly put on. He sprawled across the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed, one eye lazily on you as you bustled around with a basket of laundry.

Your home in one of Japan's well known volcanoes had an ever-present, soothing warmth that could only be found in a place tied so deeply to your quirk. The low hum of molten lava flowing beneath the house was almost like a heartbeat, steady and comforting. Soft, golden light filtered through the high windows, casting gentle shadows over the sleek, maximalist furniture that adorned your living space. 

Every detail was intentional, from the geothermal-powered appliances to the vibrant, living plants that thrived despite the volcanic heat. It was secluded, a haven tucked away from the chaos of the city, and the perfect place to recharge—though it did make visitors rare.

Perfect place to raise a fiery young upstart too. 

Asuna was perched on a stool by the kitchen counter, her oversized black hoodie swallowing her frame, paired with Hello Kitty pajama pants that spoke of her half-hearted rebellion. Her hair was tied back in a silk scarf, messy strands framing her sharp, youthful face as she absently scrolled through her phone.

You stretched with a groan, your back cracking audibly. “ Finally ,” you muttered, tossing a few shirts into the washer with a little more vigor than necessary. Shinsou snickered from the couch, his tired, amused gaze tracking your movements.

“You look like you just lost a fight with a dryer sheet,” he teased, pulling a throw pillow under his head.

“Stuff it, Hitoshi,” you shot back, grinning despite yourself. Asuna snickered, shaking her head as she grabbed the jacket draped over the back of a chair.

“Mom,” she said suddenly, holding it up for you to see.

“ Whose jacket is this ?”

You froze mid-step, turning to face her. 

For a second, the sight of it didn’t register—the familiar black fabric with bold orange stripes along the sleeves—but then it hit you. Katsuki’s jacket. The one he’d draped over your shoulders earlier, his gruff voice saying, “You’re shivering, dumbass. Take it.”

Your jaw dropped, and you let out a half-strangled noise, a mix between a gasp and a yelp. 

“ Oh my god!”

“ What?!” Asuna asked, her eyes wide and freaked out as she clutched the jacket tighter. Her question only deepened your horror.

“ Nothing! ” you said quickly, your voice pitching higher than you’d like. “It’s nothing. A... a friend let me borrow it because I was cold.” You plastered on a smile, praying she wouldn’t dig deeper.

To your relief, she gave you a knowing smile that was somehow both sweet and teasing. 

“Oh, a friend ,” she said, emphasizing the word with a sly lift of her brow.

“ Don’t ,” you warned, pointing at her dramatically. 

“Don’t even start.”

Asuna chuckled, her red eyes— so much like her father’s —dancing with amusement as she turned and carried the jacket to the washer. She dropped it in without a second thought, closing the lid with a satisfying thud.

You exhaled deeply, the tightness in your chest loosening slightly. 

Tomorrow. 

You’d just have to return it tomorrow when you saw Katsuki at the park.

No big deal.

From the couch, Shinsou arched a brow at you, his smirk bordering on smug. “You’re gonna ‘borrow’ his jacket now, huh?” he said, voice low and teasing. You quickly looked from him to Asuna, who was too far into the hallway to hear, thankfully before you shot a look at the wonka haired shit talker.  

“ Go fuck yourself, ” you groaned, throwing a sock at him. It missed, landing limply on the floor, but the effort made him laugh under his breath.

“Sure, surrre ,” he drawled, shifting to make himself more comfortable. “I’ll just sit here and quietly judge.”

“Good,” you shot back, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck.

Asuna reappeared from the laundry room, already yawning as she stretched her arms over her head. “It’s past 9, I’m going to bed,” she announced, giving you a soft smile. 

“Love you, Mom. I’ll see you in the morning.” She gave you a tight hug that you returned before she just as quickly scampered off. You didn’t take it personally though, knowing she had a set schedule and would wake soon enough at 5am to train.

“I love you too, baby,” you said, your voice warm as you watched her shuffle toward the stairs.

Asuna paused at the base of the steps, turning to glance at Shinsou. 

“I tolerate you,” she said flatly, though her lips curved into a small, mischievous grin.  “Might see you tomorrow, if you’re not dead after patrol.” 

Shinsou laughed dryly, raising a hand in mock salute. “Nice to know where I stand.”

Asuna’s grin widened, and with that, she headed upstairs, her footsteps light as she disappeared into her room.

The apartment fell quiet again, save for the faint whir of the washer and the muffled sounds from Shinsou’s podcast. You sighed deeply, the weight of the day settling on your shoulders as you finally let yourself collapse onto the floor.

The coffee table screeched against the hardwood as you kicked it aside, sprawling out on your back with your arms stretched overhead. The cool surface of the floor felt grounding, and you stared up at the ceiling, letting the stillness wash over you.

“You good?” Shinsou asked from the couch, his voice softer now, his teasing tone replaced with genuine concern.

You nodded without looking at him. “Just... processing.”

“Fair enough,” he murmured, turning his attention back to his phone.

For now, you let yourself breathe, focusing on the steady hum of the washer and the faint flicker of light from the living room lamp. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

Hours had gone by and you were going crazy. 

Focusing on the TV was becoming more and more difficult. The ramen Hitoshi bought you was already eaten, you placed both bouquets of flowers into water through sheer reluctance. Mina still hadn’t shown up yet and you were dying for her company. Hitoshi ate the eggrolls from earlier, which you didn’t mind because you didn’t have the appetite for them anyway.  

Shinsou was sprawled on the plush gray sectional, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a book in the other, while you folded laundry at the coffee table. The washer hummed softly in the background, and you worked in companionable silence, the volcanic glow giving everything an otherworldly warmth.

“Christmas plans?” Shinsou asked suddenly, his tone casual but curious as he set the book aside.

You glanced up, folding the last shirt and setting it down. “I want to make it special this year,” you admitted, your voice soft.

He raised a brow. “For Asuna?”

You nodded, a fond smile tugging at your lips as you leaned against the counter. “She’s been doing so well. Top 1% in her school, passing all her exams. And Mirko accepted her as an intern! She’s been over the moon about it.”

Shinsou smirked, resting his head against the couch. “Can’t blame her. Mirko’s no joke.”

“She’s been training so hard, balancing school and the pressure. I’m just... so proud of her,” you said, your voice filled with warmth and pride. You picked up a stray sock, absentmindedly rolling it into a ball as you continued. “I want this Christmas to be perfect for her. She deserves it.”

Shinsou nodded, his expression softening as he listened. “Sounds like she’s lucky to have you. Most parents would just toss some gifts under the tree and call it a day.”

You chuckled, though the sound was tinged with nervousness. “You know I couldn’t do that. She’s my one and only.” You turned away, placing the folded laundry into a nearby basket. The pause lingered, stretching the space between your words.

Shinsou noticed. 

He always did. 

He tilted his head, watching you closely. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

You hesitated, your hands stilling as you gripped the edge of the counter. “I just...” you started, then faltered, unable to find the words.

Shinsou sighed, setting his mug down and standing. He walked over, leaning against the island across from you. 

“It’s about Katsuki, isn’t it?”

The mention of his name felt like a jolt, and you looked up sharply, your eyes meeting Shinsou’s.

The lights around you seemed to flicker, their glow dimming and brightening in sync with the fiery pulse beneath your skin. For a fleeting moment, crimson sparks danced across your veins, crackling like embers struggling to ignite. The air around you felt heavier, charged with a tension that wasn't entirely your own. You clenched your fists, willing the heat to subside, but the surge of emotion refused to be ignored.

He knew the rules here—every unspoken boundary, every landmine that had been laid in the fragile aftermath of your past. It wasn’t like your ex’s name was a curse, but the weight it carried might as well have been. It was a spark to kindling, an uninvited ghost dragging its chains through the carefully rebuilt calm of your life.

His gaze flickered to you, cautious but steady, the silent question hanging in the space between you both.

“I’m not judging,” Shinsou said gently, his tone understanding. “But if he’s going to be part of this picture, you need to figure out where you stand. For yourself. For Asuna.”

You sighed deeply, running a hand through your hair. “I know,” you whispered. “I just... I don’t want to mess this up. For her. For us.”

Shinsou crossed his arms, his gaze steady but kind. “You’ve done a good job raising her, even with all the craziness. She’s strong, smart, and honestly? She’s a little terrifying in the best way possible. You’ve got this.”

His words settled over you, grounding and reassuring. You managed a small smile, grateful for his steady presence.

“Thanks, Hitoshi,” you said softly, meeting his eyes.

The familiar chime of the door alert snapped you out of your thoughts. 

You wiped your hands on your pants and checked the cameras, exhaling when you saw Mina’s pink, flushed face staring into the lens. She was sweaty but smiling, giving a little wave as if to say, I made it, finally.

You opened the door, and before you could say a word, Mina enveloped you in one of her bone-crushing hugs, squeezing you tight as if she could physically inject you with her endless energy and warmth.

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” she blurted out, pulling back slightly to look at you, her golden eyes glinting with concern. “We had to stop a villain trying to rob the city bank a few hours ago. It was a mess, but we got them!”

Your eyes widened, and you felt Shinsou shift behind you, his sharp intake of breath mirroring your own. “Mina,” you started, your voice thin with worry, “why didn’t you—”

She cut you off with a reassuring smile, holding up her hands. “You couldn’t have known, okay? Don’t blame yourself. We handled it.” Her tone was light, but her gaze flicked over you, taking in your exhaustion and the faint tremor in your shoulders.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. Everything Mina said blurred in your mind as the memories hit, triggered by her presence, by the safety she brought even in the chaos.

It wasn’t just the fight a few days ago that had left you physically and emotionally battered. It was waking up to a world that had shifted without you, to news plastered everywhere about your grandmother’s death—a beacon of your life suddenly snuffed out. The hospital TV hadn’t stood a chance against the projectile vomit that came up when you’d seen it, the molten heat of your quirk melting the screen to slag.

You remembered waking up disoriented, Asuna at your bedside, her face etched with an anguish you’d never seen before. That was what broke you more than anything. 

Seeing your child so lost. She had only ever known you and your grandmother.

And now it was just you.

A sob rose in your throat as Mina hugged you again, her energy softening, her arms anchoring you as you let yourself cry. The memories rushed over you like waves.

Your grandmother had been there when Asuna was born, cutting the cord with steady hands and a teary smile. Aizawa had brought flowers when he visited your hospital room, his stoic demeanor hiding the tenderness in his gesture. Mina had declared herself Asuna’s godmother with absolute authority, showing up with the most delicious post-birth meal you’d ever seen. Shinsou had brought cat-themed pajamas for Asuna, holding her like she was made of porcelain, his normally dry humor replaced with quiet reverence.

And your grandmother had known everything. She’d known the truth about Asuna’s father. She’d told you she’d handle it if you didn’t. “You take care of your baby,” she had said, her tone unyielding as steel, “and I’ll take care of mine.”

And now she was gone.

You felt Mina’s arms tighten around you, her cheek resting on your shoulder as if to shield you from your own grief. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice warm and steady, “We’ve got you. We’re your village.”

“You’re not alone.”

You cried harder at that, the weight of the past and present colliding in your chest. Mina held you, her vibrant presence grounding you as the grief poured out, a release you hadn’t let yourself have until now.

Behind you, Shinsou stood silently, his gaze softening as he gave you space to lean on someone else. In this moment, you weren’t the one holding it all together. You were just you, surrounded by people who refused to let you fall.

And then you fell in the doorway, taking Mina with you. 

The second Shinsou saw you break down in Mina’s arms, he stood from the couch without hesitation. His steps were deliberate but gentle, as if moving too quickly might make things worse. Without a word, he crouched beside you, his arms wrapping around your trembling form from the other side.

It wasn’t long before the three of you slid down to the floor in the doorway, your back against the cool frame as your sobs filled the space. Shinsou’s hug was firm, steadying, while Mina’s was warm and grounding. They didn’t try to shush you or tell you it was okay—they just held on tighter as you unraveled.

The tears came harder, your chest heaving with the weight of everything you’d been holding back. You weren’t just crying about today. It was everything—years of pain, fear, and exhaustion crashing over you all at once.

“I failed her,” you choked out between sobs, your voice thick with guilt. “I’ve failed Asuna. I’ve failed her so many times.”

“No, you haven’t,” Mina murmured, her voice soft but unyielding. “You’ve done so much for her. Look at her—she’s thriving.”

But you couldn’t stop the flood of memories. 

You cried at the thought of all the times you felt like you couldn’t measure up, couldn’t be enough for your daughter. Mina had been there during your pregnancy, covering for you when your body gave out, when the world was demanding you be more than you could. She’d gone to battle for you, doing hero work in your name so you could recover without the public eye dissecting your every move.

You remembered your manager, Elle’s, tireless efforts to shield you. She’d blocked contact from the outside world, pretending to be you for photoshoots and promotional materials if it came down to it, ensuring that Asuna stayed your best-kept secret.

The nights Aizawa sat up with you played in your mind, his quiet presence keeping you company as he shared his parenting books and advice. He never judged, never questioned your decisions—he was just there, steady as ever. Shinsou’s midnight drives surfaced too, his dry but loving humor making the miles pass faster as he indulged your spicy cravings, no matter how absurd.

And then there were the tokens of your grandmother’s love. The tiny hats, socks, and blankets she made for her great-grandchild, each stitch a testament to her pride and care. You thought about the Christmas gifts still waiting at her house, already wrapped, waiting for a holiday she wouldn’t see.

Your sobs became more ragged as a new wave of grief surged through you. “Katsuki,” you whispered, his name slipping out unbidden. Saying it felt like tearing open an old wound.

Mina and Shinsou didn’t need to ask. 

They just held you tighter.

You wept harder at the thought of him—his stormy eyes and the memories that refused to leave you alone. The way he had once been your world, and the way he unknowingly left you with the greatest and most complicated gift of your life. The idea of seeing him tomorrow, of returning the jacket, of carrying the truth that you still couldn’t share—

It was too much.

Your fists clenched in their holds, your body trembling as you sobbed into the quiet. Mina rested her chin on your shoulder, rocking you slightly, while Shinsou pressed his forehead against the top of your head, his grip solid and unwavering.

“We’ve got you,” Shinsou said, his voice low and steady. “We’ve always got you.”

You let their words and presence anchor you as you cried until there was nothing left.

Eventually, yo exhaled shakily as your breathing finally steadied, and Shinsou rose to his feet, pulling you and Mina up with him. His grip was firm but gentle, his sharp eyes scanning your face to ensure you were truly okay. Satisfied, he gave a small nod, grabbed his jacket, and made his way to the door.

“Call like usual,” you reminded him, your voice still a little hoarse.

He paused, throwing a lazy salute your way. “Always will.”

Mina leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Don’t worry about her, Hitoshi. I’ve got her covered. You just go terrorize the villains like the grumpy cat you are.”

Shinsou raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “And you try not to melt the place while I’m gone, Pinky.” She stuck out her tongue at him, and with a final wave, he disappeared into the night.

Mina shut the door and turned to you, her expression softening. She didn’t say anything immediately, just made a beeline for your fridge. The quiet hum of the appliance filled the air as she rummaged around before pulling out a can of her favorite strawberry soda. She pressed the icy metal to her flushed cheeks with a sigh of relief.

“I love your place, you know that?” she said, her voice light but tinged with teasing. “But seriously, would it kill you to crank the AC? It feels like I ran a marathon to get here.”

You chuckled softly, leaning against the kitchen island. “I keep it cool in Asuna’s room. She can’t stand the heat.”

Mina nodded, cracking open the soda and taking a long sip. Then, setting the can down, she shuffled over to where you stood. Without a word, she reached out, taking one of your hands in both of hers. Her fingers were cool from the soda, and the simple gesture made your chest tighten all over again.

“I know things have been… rough this past week,” she began, her voice unusually serious. Her golden eyes searched yours, filled with concern. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. And I really didn’t know Katsuki was going to… do that.”

You felt your throat tighten again, but you squeezed her hands back, managing a small laugh. 

“It’s okay. I don’t think he knew he was going to do that either.”

The two of you fell silent for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling in. Finally, you pulled away gently, opening the fridge to retrieve a bottle of green tea. The cold glass felt grounding in your hands, even if you had no real desire to drink it.

Mina perched herself on one of the kitchen stools, swirling the remaining soda in her can. “He’s always grumpy around this time of year, you know,” she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the countertop. “The night you two broke up… it was Christmas Eve. And technically Christmas Day was when you moved out.”

You sighed heavily, nodding as you unscrewed the cap from your tea. “I know. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I just…” You trailed off, words failing you as memories threatened to resurface.

Mina reached out, resting a hand on your arm. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” she said gently. “But you do need to let yourself feel it. Whatever it is.”

You nodded again, staring into the pale green liquid as if it held the answers. The two of you stayed like that, quiet but connected, as the soft hum of the volcano-powered home wrapped around you both like a warm, steady heartbeat.

Mina lifted the soda and took a sip before looking at you, her expression softening. “How’s Asuna holding up?”

You sighed, setting the tea bottle aside and hoisting yourself onto the counter, crossing your legs. “Honestly? I don’t know. She’s my little rock. She’s always been so strong, but I’m really worried about her.”

Mina frowned but stayed quiet, letting you continue.

“She’s only cried once since everything happened—at the hospital,” you said, your voice faltering slightly. 

“And she told me herself that she broke down during exams a few times. I think Kayama-sensei even emailed or texted me about it, but I never got around to checking.” 

You rubbed your temples, frustration and guilt creeping in. “I think she’s trying to be strong for me, which is exactly what I don’t want. She’s sixteen, Mina. She should be able to express herself, to fall apart… at home, where she’s safe.”

Mina nodded, her pink brows furrowing in thought. “Everyone processes grief differently, you know? Maybe Asuna just needs time to work through it her way.”

You nodded, but your shoulders slumped as you added, “I know, but her temper…” You trailed off, your lips pressing into a tight line. “When Asuna loses her temper, it’s like a nuke exploding. She’s been asking weird questions lately, too, and I don’t want a ticking time bomb on my hands.”

Mina tilted her head, curious. “Weird questions? Like what?”

You looked at her, hesitating, and she immediately pieced it together. Her expression softened, and she murmured, 

“Oh.”

You nodded, your voice quieter now. “About her father. She’s been asking more and more. I’ve never given her much to go on. Just that he’s a man I went to school with, that things didn’t work out, and he was always more into his work than anything else. We… we parted ways. That’s all I told her.”

Mina’s eyes held a mixture of understanding and concern, but she didn’t push. Instead, she waited as you stared off, lost in the memories that began to wash over you.

The first time you held her. That tiny, warm bundle laid gently on your chest after hours of labor. She was so small, her full head of hair damp against her delicate skin, and her cries—soft but strong—rang out. The sweet, almost otherworldly smell of her. When she opened her eyes, red as fire. 

Those same eyes you had tried so hard to leave behind.

It had been so much. 

Too much. 

The breakup, the media frenzy, being surrounded by old friends constantly. Then, just as you were piecing yourself back together, the nausea hit. That grilled fish someone offered you after a patrol had you puking onto the office floor in front of a dozen horrified colleagues. 

At first, everyone thought it was some concussion reaction. You’d been rushed to the hospital by your manager for every possible test—scans, bloodwork, everything—until one very specific blood test confirmed it: 

Five weeks pregnant.

You’d felt a rush of something indescribable when the nurse handed you the results, congratulating you with a warm smile. “Are you sure?” you’d asked, almost breathless.

She laughed, nodding. “Very sure. Congratulations, Mama. Your follow-up with the OB-GYN is already scheduled.”

You’d walked out of the hospital on cloud nine

Until reality hit. Your life was no longer just yours. You were 21, at the very start of your hero career and life as a young woman. No husband, no boyfriend, no partner. In a world that was dangerous on the best of days. Literally employed to kick ass and possibly get your ass kicked in the name of justice. 

Without thinking, you called Aizawa. The groggy sound of him waking up still echoed in your memory. He’d mumbled something incoherent, but when you said you were at the hospital, needed a ride, and, oh yeah, you were pregnant—there was a loud crash. You’d later learned he fell out of bed, taking the cat tree with him.

He showed up, though. Of course, he did. He always had. From that night onward, he was there for every moment, a steady presence as you figured out how to navigate the chaos.

Mina’s voice brought you back. “You okay?”

You blinked and nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… thinking about everything. Aizawa’s always been there for me, you know? Like a dad. But he has his own kid to finish raising, and he’s already done so much for me.”

Mina tilted her head, watching you carefully.

You sighed. “He thinks Katsuki has a right to know. About Asuna.”

Mina didn’t say anything right away, her lips pressing into a thoughtful line. Finally, she reached for your hand again, giving it a squeeze. “Do you think he’s ready to know?”

You exhaled shakily, unsure of the answer.

You shook your head slowly, staring down at your hands. “I don’t think so,” you admitted quietly. “But I don’t know if that’s because I’m scared of how it’ll affect Asuna. She’s doing so well in school right now. I don’t want to ruin that for her.” You paused, your voice faltering. 

“Or if it’s because Katsuki… he’s different now. Changed.”

Mina’s lips pursed thoughtfully as she leaned back against the counter. “Yeah, he has been a little off lately. Like, really off. More than usual. He’s in a slump, even if he won’t admit it.”

You glanced at her, curiosity mingling with concern. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, tipping her head back as if to gather her thoughts. “He came into the office this morning, right? Had all these random frozen things we forgot about—bread, soy sauce, and stuff. He just started throwing them at us.”

You blinked, a soft, “Ah,” slipping out as you remembered Denki and Sero recounting the same ridiculous story earlier to cheer you up.

“Exactly,” Mina said, pointing at you. “Then he went into Kirishima’s office, and the two of them stayed in there for almost two hours. No one wanted to get in or figure out what they were talking about. When Katsuki finally came out, he just… left. For the rest of the day. No one could reach him.”

You frowned, worry gnawing at you.

“Kirishima ended up tracking him down and bringing him to the ramen place,” Mina continued, crossing her arms. “When he got there, Katsuki looked like he’d been crying. Like, actual crying.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt.

“After that, they hit up a convenience store with Izuku and Todoroki. By the time Katsuki came back to the office, you’d already shown up, and then you two disappeared outside for hours to talk.”

You nodded slowly, trying to piece together your emotions. Mina didn’t press, though you could tell she was dying to ask what had been said. Instead, you filled the silence. “We’re meeting tomorrow. At noon. He’s bringing back some old pictures of mine.”

Mina’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what? You’re meeting with him? Are you… are you ready for that?”

“No,” you admitted bluntly, trying to muster a smirk and failing. “But I’ve been through worse.”

She shook her head at you, her gaze unwavering. “You’re still not over him,” she said quietly, but there was no judgment in her voice. 

Just the undeniable truth.

The words hit you harder than you expected. You swallowed, suddenly feeling very small as you sat there, trying to sort through everything churning inside you.

Your kitchen was cozy, a mix of soft colors and warm woods that made it feel like a sanctuary. Potted herbs sat on the windowsill, their fresh scents mingling with the faint aroma of lavender from a nearby diffuser. 

A large window dominated one side of the kitchen, offering a breathtaking view of the sky and ocean, with greenery swaying gently in the breeze below. The moonlight streaming through painted everything in a soft glow, making the plants look even more vibrant. A few hanging planters dangled above the sink, their long vines brushing against the backsplash tiles like a living curtain.

Mina glanced outside, a hand dramatically fanning her face. “This view is gorgeous, but why does it feel like a sauna in here?” You laughed and got up, heading to the freezer. “Need some frozen chocolate?”

She shook her head but eyed you skeptically. “No thanks, but maybe some ice would help before I melt into a puddle.”

With a grin, you popped open an ice mold, revealing perfectly shaped rose cubes. “Here, delicate as you are.” You handed her a few, and she took them with exaggerated reverence, gently pressing them to her temples before finishing her soda with a satisfied sigh.

“This is why I come here,” Mina said, leaning back against the counter. “Cozy kitchen, ocean views, and rose-shaped ice cubes. You spoil me.”

“I aim to please,” you said, tossing a few frozen corn bits at her before closing the freezer door with your hip. The pinkette yelped in mock indignation. “You and Katsuki both have this terrible habit of attacking your friends with frozen food. Is this a tradition or something?”

You smirked, about to fire back a retort when something clicked in your mind. 

“The will!”

Mina raised an eyebrow. “The what now?”

You rushed into the living room, almost took out your coffee table, phone snatched in hand, scrolling furiously through your messages. The airy, open space was just as homey as the kitchen, filled with bookshelves and soft throws draped over furniture. Lavalight spilled through another set of large windows, highlighting the TV and a small jade tree perched on the side table.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Texting Katsuki felt daunting, a weight you weren’t quite ready to carry tonight. Mina followed you, her curiosity clearly piqued.

“What’s going on?” she asked, plopping onto the floor beside you as you sat down in frustration.

With a groan, you explained, “My cousin’s contesting the will. It only mentions Asuna and me, so if I don’t get the original document, the judge might split everything fifty-fifty. I can’t even get into the house because the sheriff put a lock on it.” You covered your face, sliding further down until your back hit the floor.

Mina sat cross-legged beside you, shaking her head. “Why don’t I just call him? Katsuki doesn’t have to know I know about Asuna.”

“No,” you said firmly, sitting up with a glare. “If he found out you knew and didn’t tell him, he’d never speak to you again.”

Mina rolled her eyes. “How would he even figure that out from a phone call?”

You groaned, making a faint, frustrated noise as you flopped back down. Mina, clearly undeterred, grabbed your phone. “Hey, your voicemail box has something.”

Curious, you let her play it. Katsuki’s voice filled the room, calm but tinged with his usual gruffness. “Hey, uh… I forgot to give ya that binder after all that stuff earlier. I’ll bring it to the park tomorrow with the other things. Just lemme know if that works.”

The relief hit you like a wave, your chest tightening as you nearly sobbed. “Oh my God, thank you,” you breathed, staring at the phone like it had just saved your life.

Then your eyes widened in realization. 

“Tomorrow’s the last day of school before winter break. Asuna gets out at noon.”

Mina raised an eyebrow. “So? Text Aizawa to watch her for a bit.”

You winced. “He and Eri are going straight home to nap and then going Christmas tree shopping. I don’t want to mess with that. Eri’s been looking forward to it for weeks.”

“Fair point.” Mina tapped her chin, then grinned. “What about Mirko?”

Your face lit up as you immediately texted the six-foot-tall bunny hero. Not even a minute passed before your phone rang, Mirko’s name flashing on the screen.

Mommy Rabbit 🤤🥰   is Calling 

“Don’t tell me you’re asking for babysitting favors,” Rumi teased the moment you answered, her tone light but curious. “Would you believe me if I said it’s a long story?” you replied, half-laughing, your heart easing at the sound of her familiar voice.

The warm lava light cast a soft glow as you leaned against the sofa, phone cradled to your ear. Mina sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping the last of her soda, while Rumi’s voice boomed from the speaker with her usual energy.

“Long story, huh?” Rumi teased. “Didn’t take you for the fairy tale type.”

“It’s not like that!” you said with a laugh. “Asuna gets out of school early tomorrow, and I’ve got to meet someone. I didn’t know who else to ask.”

“Relax, I’m just teasing,” Rumi replied, her tone softening. “Of course, I’ll watch my favorite stinker! How’s she been doing anyway? Still blowing things up, or have we learned some self-control?”

Mina grinned, joining the conversation. “She’s actually been amazing! Aizawa’s been working with her on technique, and she’s gotten so good at regulating her quirk. Like, scary good.”

You nodded in agreement, your heart swelling with pride. “She’s not just controlling it; it’s like she’s physic. She’s using her quirk in ways I hadn’t even considered.”

“That’s my girl,” Rumi said with a laugh. “Sounds like she’s got a little stone-cold killer in her, just like her mom.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was impossible to hide. “Aizawa’s been incredible too. He’s agreed to keep working with her over winter break, which is such a relief. He really gets her.”

“Yeah, Eraser’s good like that,” Rumi agreed. “But don’t give him all the credit. You’re the one raising her, and it sounds like you’re doing a damn good job.”

Mina raised her drink in a mock toast. “Hear, hear!”

You chuckled, grateful for their encouragement. “Thanks, you two.”

“So, what about you?” Mina asked Rumi. “Got any Christmas plans, or are you just winging it like always?”

Rumi snorted. “You know me too well. I’ve got nothing concrete, but Taishiro and I were talking about maybe checking out the light displays. If you and Asuna are free, you should come with us.”

“Asuna would love that,” you said instantly. “Let’s do it.”

“Perfect. I’ll let you know when we figure out the details,” Rumi said. Then, her tone turned serious, though her warmth remained. “And you, missy—keep hanging on. It’s easier to fall apart than to put yourself back together, but I know you. You’ll be back to being the woman I know and love before the year is out.”

“If not,” she added with a playful growl, “I’ll happily kick your ass into shape.”

The three of you burst into laughter, the sound filling the cozy living room like a balm for your soul.

Love you, you big bunny,” you said, making exaggerated kissy noises into the phone.

“Love you too,” Mina added, joining in with her own obnoxious smooches.

“Alright, alright, enough of that!” Rumi laughed. “I’ve got to get back to patrol. Catch you ladies later.”

She hung up, leaving you and Mina sitting in the lingering warmth of her encouragement. The sound of the waves outside the window and the rustling leaves in the breeze seemed to echo her words, grounding you in the moment.

Mina tilted her head, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Wait, what did Rumi mean about Asuna blowing things up? I thought her quirk didn’t work like that.”

You sighed, setting the phone on the coffee table and crossing your arms. The lava streaming through the windows danced across the warm wooden tones of the floor, highlighting the cream carpet and photos arranged neatly on the fireplace. A pothos plant spilled its green vines down the wall, and the faint scent of rosemary from the herb garden lingered in the air.

“Well,” you began, leaning your hip against the table's leg, “Asuna got Rita’s quirk with... traces of Katsuki’s and mine. Her main ability is creating energy fields for offense, defense, and protection. At first, she could only make force fields, basic stuff, ya know? And my grandma was the one who helped her figure that out.”

Mina nodded, leaning forward, her interest piqued. “Okay, that makes sense. Force Fields are practical. Useful.”

“Right. Then she started producing powerful energy blasts, and that’s where I came in,” you continued, gesturing with your hands. “I helped her learn to control the intensity and precision of her blasts. But then Asuna realized she could channel the energy into these tiny, marble-sized balls... and set them to explode.”

Mina’s eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“Yeah.” You grimaced, running a hand through your hair. “The results were... disastrous, to say the least. One burnt-down baseball field and two houses later, I went full paranoia mode and bought everything fireproof. Just in case.”

Mina gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Wait, you’re serious?!”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” You gestured toward the corner of the kitchen, where a fire extinguisher hung on the wall. “Even this place is prepped for the worst. I give Asuna credit, though. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, and she’s sweet and loving most of the time. But then there’s that other side of her—the gremlin side she inherited from Katsuki.”

Mina snorted, doubling over in laughter. “You mean the ‘short-tempered, explosion-prone, gremlin’ side?”

“Exactly,” you said, shaking your head. “Her temper flares, her quirk sparks, and... boom. Sometimes it’s an energy explosion, sometimes it’s a fiery mess hot enough to rival the lava I can conjure from my fingertips. And the scariest part? She’s fireproof to an extent, but not completely.”

Mina sobered, her smile fading. 

“That sounds... tough. For both of you.”

“It is,” you admitted, your voice softening. “She’s getting older now, and I can tell she gets frustrated with that side of her quirk. She’s trying so hard to control it, but sometimes she loses herself in it. Aizawa helps however he can—he’s trained Katsuki, after all—but I know she doesn’t talk to me about it because it reminds her of her mystery father.”

You sighed deeply, gazing out the window at the endless blue sky meeting the ocean in the distance. “I hate that she feels like she has to navigate that alone.”

Mina placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, her expression serious but kind. “She’s lucky to have you, though. You’re doing everything you can, and she knows it. Kids are resilient, and Asuna’s got your strength—and your heart.”

You smiled faintly, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “Thanks, Mina. It means a lot.”

“She’s gonna be okay,” Mina said firmly, squeezing your shoulder.

“You both are.”

You nodded, the weight on your chest lightening just a little as you glanced back at the cozy kitchen—the plants, the lava light, the safety you’d built here for Asuna.

Maybe Mina was right.

Maybe you were doing okay after all.

Upstairs, Asuna perched silently at the top of the staircase, earbuds dangling loosely around her neck. 

She had been about to head down for a snack and a bottle of water when she caught the tail end of your conversation with Mina. Her chest tightened at the words that drifted up.

"So I do get that part of me from him," she murmured to herself, barely audible, her fingers gripping the banister. A dull ache spread through her chest as realization settled in, heavier than she expected.

The sound of her name crackled through her earbuds, snapping her out of her thoughts. “’Suna, you there?” Eri’s voice rang, sweet and full of concern, in her ear.

Asuna pulled the earbuds back in and forced a smile. “Hey, Eri. Yeah, I’m here.” She rose from her crouched position and tiptoed back up the stairs, her socked feet silent against the wood. Her door clicked shut behind her as she whispered, “I gotta take a waz, I’ll call you back in a bit.”

“Okay, don’t fall in!”

“Pfft, you wish!” she replied with a small laugh before the line disconnected.

Asuna sighed, tossing her phone onto the bed before padding over to her window. She pressed her forehead against the icy glass, the cold biting at her skin but doing little to calm the storm inside her.

The moon hung high, its glow illuminating the cityscape stretched out before her. Over the dark lava flow in the distance, the twinkle of city lights blurred into the horizon. She stared at the expanse, her breath fogging the window as memories and unanswered questions churned in her mind.

She didn’t know which of the famed men from Class 1-A was her father, but she had her suspicions. She’d pieced together fragments over the years: the photo she’d found in Aizawa’s desk drawer, you standing next to two boys with fiery red eyes; the limited internet access she’d used to match the faces to names. 

Red Riot and Dynamight —long-time best friends and heroes. The same men she’d met at the ramen shop not long ago.

She closed her eyes, the memory of their faces replaying in her mind.

Asuna hate’s the winter. The cold seeped into her bones, reminding her of her frailty as a child. Born at just five months, she had struggled with health issues, asthma attacks brought on by overheating being the most persistent to her underdeveloped lungs. You had kept her home most of the time, worried and protective. She had understood, even appreciated it then, but as she grew older, the isolation became suffocating.

It wasn’t until high school loomed that she had pushed to attend UA, determined to experience the world beyond the walls you've built around her. Aizawa had homeschooled her for years, and though she adored the time spent with him and Eri—her only true friend—she craved more.

Eri had understood her like no one else, the two of them often staying over at each other’s homes. But even with Eri’s companionship, the lingering questions about her father never faded. 

Why wouldn’t you tell her? What were you hiding?

The bracelet tracker on her wrist felt heavier than usual as she traced her finger over its edges. She knew where you would be, thanks to it. She knew where Rumi had told her to wait. She also knew she wasn’t supposed to leave—

But the need to know burned too hot to ignore.

Her forehead remained pressed to the glass as she closed her eyes, wishing the cold would seep into her and numb her thoughts. She wished it would snow, a blizzard so thick it would shut everything down. 

Then, maybe, you’d stay home. Just you and her, curled up with junk food, watching movies, and stealing moments of warmth in a cocoon of blankets.

She thought of her grandmother, her gentle hands tucking her in, rubbing her head as she drifted off in front of the fireplace. She missed her so much it hurt, a hollow ache that never truly faded.

She pulled back from the window, her breath leaving a foggy imprint on the glass. “I just want to know,” she whispered into the silent room. Her voice cracked, but she didn’t cry. The moonlight bathed her hair in silver as she stared out at the distant city, the question she never voiced echoing in her heart, 

‘Who is my father?’

The cold outside pressed closer, a stark contrast to the warmth she longed for. She hugged herself tightly, retreating to her bed. The city lights twinkled far away, just beyond her reach—much like the answers she sought.

Asuna sat on the edge of her bed, phone clutched tightly in her hand. The glowing screen displayed Eri’s contact, but she couldn’t bring herself to press call. Her thumb hovered for a moment before she sighed, tossing the phone onto her pillow.

Restlessness gripped her like a vice, her thoughts racing too quickly to catch. She wanted to storm downstairs and demand Mina spill everything. She wanted to grab the card the big red guy—Kirishima, or whatever his name was—had given her and call him up, demanding answers. She wanted to thank Rumi for covering for her, for always having her back.

She wanted to thank Aizawa for finding her and letting her sit quietly on that rooftop instead of sending her straight home. She wanted to call Uncle Shinsou and make him tell her everything, the way he always managed to pry the truth out of others. 

More than anything, Asuna wanted to march into your room, confess that she’d tracked your location and followed you, and apologize for breaking your trust. 

But she couldn’t. 

The weight of her emotions was too much, pressing down until she felt like she was suffocating. She stood abruptly, the movement sudden and jerky, and stumbled out of her room.

Her feet carried her to the bathroom in a blur. She slammed the light on, the harsh brightness stinging her eyes, and barely made it to the sink before doubling over. Her stomach heaved violently, the remnants of egg rolls and ramen she’d forced herself to eat earlier spilling out. Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles red, as wave after wave of nausea rolled through her.

Finally, the retching stopped, leaving her trembling and dry. She spat into the sink, reaching blindly for the faucet to rinse the mess away. The rush of water was loud in the small space, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of her own ragged breathing.

She grabbed her toothbrush with shaking hands, furiously scrubbing her teeth as if she could erase the sour taste of guilt and frustration along with the bile. The bristles scraped against her gums, her motions more aggressive than necessary, but she didn’t care. She wanted the germs gone, wanted to feel clean, even if it was just superficial.

As she rinsed her mouth, her mind drifted to her grandmother. She wished, more than anything, that the older woman was still alive. Her grandmother had never lied to her. She would have told her the truth—about her father, about you, about everything.

Her thoughts swung back to you, the image of your face etched into her mind. 

How could she be mad at you? 

You were her mom. The person who raised her. The one she had always reached out to, even as a baby.

Her first memory was of your lips—soft, warm, and comforting. She drew them in the margins of her notebooks, a small comfort when she felt overwhelmed. She thought of how her classmates whispered about you, how they admired your strength, beauty, and the private life you fiercely protected. Some speculated you’d gotten married in secret, building a family in the shadows.

Asuna turned her focus back to the sink, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing her mouth thoroughly. She braced her hands on the counter, staring at the water swirling down the drain. She felt a lump rise in her throat, but she forced it down.

Finally, she raised her head and looked into the mirror. 

Her reflection stared back, drained and tired, with stormy eyes that didn’t quite belong to her but felt achingly familiar. A piece of him, whoever he was.

She traced her fingers lightly over the edge of the mirror, her voice barely a whisper. 

“What am I supposed to do?”

Asuna’s eyes lingered on her reflection in the mirror, her breath catching in her throat. She leaned closer, the fluorescent light above flickering slightly, casting a cold, sterile glow over her face. 

Those eyes… they didn’t feel like hers. 

They burned too brightly, smoldering like embers in the depths of a fire that wasn’t her own.

She raised a trembling hand to her face, her fingertips grazing the skin beneath her eyes as if touching them would confirm they were real. 

But they weren’t really hers. 

Someone else owned them.

The thought gripped her chest tightly. Her face wasn’t hers either. It was yours—your famed cheekbones, the soft curve of your jaw, the shape of your lips. Everyone said she was the spitting image of her beautiful, powerful mother. 

And while she admired you endlessly, it made her feel like a ghost of her own life. 

A shadow.

Her nails dug into the counter’s edge as the familiar weight of frustration and resentment bubbled in her chest. She didn’t feel like herself. 

To most people, she was a reflection of you—a legacy, an extension, a continuation. 

But who was Asuna?

She turned the faucet on, the rush of cold water snapping her out of her thoughts. She splashed some onto her face, hoping the chill would help ground her, but it didn’t. Her fingers pressed against her temples as she tried to stop the spiraling thoughts.

The only person who seemed to see her, really see her, was Eri. But even with Eri, there were times Asuna felt like she was walking a tightrope, trying to prove she was her own person. It didn’t help that, despite her best efforts, she couldn’t escape being compared to you.

“Just like her mother,” they’d say, dismissing her achievements as though they were inevitable, as if her hard work was predestined because she was your daughter. Asuna always worked twelve times harder than everyone else just to carve out a sliver of her own identity, but even then, the credit felt hollow.

Ironically, the one thing people agreed was entirely her own was the one thing that made her feel most alien. 

Her eyes

Those piercing red eyes that weren’t yours, that didn’t come from the warm, loving person who raised her. 

Eyes that clearly belonged to someone else

Her hands clenched into fists, her nails biting into her palms. She had seen those eyes before, hadn’t she? Earlier today, when she surprised the two men at the ramen spot. Her stomach churned at the memory. They had been so stunned, so caught off guard. She’d taken a dark, petty satisfaction in startling them.

And yet, the thought of it now filled her with guilt. 

She hadn’t known it was him back then, the first time she’d seen them at the convenience store. She’d been overwhelmed, lost in grief and confusion.

But afterward?

She let them have it, throwing every ounce of her anger and frustration at them, even if they didn’t fully deserve it.

Bits and pieces of the story had come to her over the years, from whispered conversations and the few snippets she’d managed to overhear. You and her father had a terrible breakup—one that had clearly left scars.

But you never spoke about him. Not directly, only when Asuna had asked, in the way children do, with innocent curiosity.

Not even a negative word. 

Asuna’s fingers tightened on the edge of the sink as her mind flashed back to the stolen moments of research she’d managed to conduct. Parental locks on devices made digging nearly impossible. She didn’t trust anyone at school enough to ask, and the school computers were out of the question.

It wasn’t until Rumi had entered the picture that things had changed. A single Google search on the bunny hero’s phone, a quick scroll through old and recent news articles, and Asuna’s world shifted. The headlines spoke of heartbreak, of public fights and private betrayal.

Your hero name intertwined with his.

Asuna felt sick all over again, not from the ramen or egg rolls, but from guilt.

She shouldn’t have looked. She should have come to you first.

You must have had good reasons for keeping it from her—reasons rooted in love and protection. 

And yet, the need to know clawed at her insides.

Her powers were growing faster than she could control them, each surge of energy feeling like a scream she couldn’t silence. It was like her body was trying to tell her something, trying to fill in the blanks her mind couldn’t comprehend.

Asuna stared into the mirror, her red eyes glinting under the flickering light. 

‘Who do these eyes belong to?’ she wondered again, a lump rising in her throat.

The weight of isolation pressed down on her. 

She felt utterly alone, trapped in a mental prison built from secrets and half-truths. She wanted to cry, to rage, to throw something and let the dam break. 

But she couldn’t.

Instead, she reached for a towel and dried her face, her movements slow and deliberate. She glanced at her reflection one last time, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“I need answers,” she whispered to herself.

Her fingers brushed against the bracelet on her wrist—the one with the tracker she’d given you. For her safety, you’d agreed. And yet, tonight, it had brought her somewhere you hadn’t wanted her to go. 

Somewhere that had only raised more questions.

She turned and left the bathroom, her steps quiet but purposeful. Back in her room, she grabbed her phone, staring at the screen. She thought about calling Eri.

Or maybe Rumi. Or Shinsou. Or even Aizawa.

But no. 

There was only one person she needed to talk to.

Sliding under the covers, Asuna clutched her phone to her chest. She’d wait until noon. 

And then she’d confront you.

How we feeling chat?

Taglist: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r,@v3n7s, icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756.

Lemme know if you wanna be added to the list!

So sorry about the hiatus between chapters. I hope you all accept this as a late Christmas/New years present. I'm also working on the poster for this fic so I can finally add it to my construction zone of a master list.

I own none of the images or art!!!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have some more Katsuki (and other mha) here in the master list. (Ao3 account is pretty sexy too.)

Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[queenjunothegreat]

The Tumblr link thing won't work so have an ugly ass hyperlink, I GUESS

Alrighty! It's time to ring in the new year, and I think it's only appropriate that my first post of the year is HoJ! :D @demigod-shenanigans and I were talking about what scenes I should do from MoA and we talked about Charleston and Jason not really remembering (or really even knowing) what happened there with Reyna but he DOES know that his best friend kinda got weird and distant, so he's got all this anxiety about Piper going to talk to that very same entity. Instead, I wrote this. Sorry, bestie <3

Now, may I present LEO Takes a Tumble: A Mark of Athena Scene

As Leo fell once again, he realized that he hadn't been scared when he was falling before. He hadn't been scared because he knew Jason was there and he knew with every fiber of his being that Jason would catch him. Jason wouldn't let him fall. But now they were both falling, and Leo wasn't really sure whose job it was to catch Jason. *** Leo free falls to his certain death. This is only really about half as dramatic as it should be.

As Leo fell through the air following Frank ‘Butterfingers’ Zhang’s spectacular performance (seriously, how did a giant eagle manage to drop him? Leo was suspicious of a deliberate attempt on his life) his only thought was a deep, heart-aching regret at the thought of the salsa he'd made the night before. It had been good right after he'd finished it, obviously, but after a night of letting it rest? Of letting all those flavors marry and meld? There wasn't much that could beat that. But now he'd never get to have it because Frank had gone and dropped him right above a demigod free-for-all throwdown. Somehow, the crew of the Argo II was managing to hold their own against the platoon of soldiers who'd attacked them, which was honestly a little embarrassing for the Romans, come to think of it. 

Before he could think too much about that, he was tackled in midair and brought in close to a remarkably familiar chest. He looked up to see Jason, all of his features sharpened with concentration, and he couldn't help but bite his lower lip in a grin and waggle his eyebrows. “Well, if it isn't the one and only Superman himself. Come here often?”

“Focusing right now,” Jason chided, ignoring the pink on his cheeks. “Be quiet.”

“You know me, Mr. Serious here. I'm practically stoic.”

Jason scoffed. “Yeah right.”

Unfortunately, even that brief moment of distraction was enough to sign the warrant on their certain doom. There was an explosion in the air right in front of them (Leo blamed Hedge) and Jason didn't have time to react. He didn't drop Leo, but he did lose control of the winds and the two of them were suddenly tumbling through the air like abandoned dolls. 

As Leo fell once again, he realized that he hadn't been scared when he was falling before. He hadn't been scared because he knew Jason was there and he knew with every fiber of his being that Jason would catch him. Jason wouldn't let him fall. But now they were both falling, and Leo wasn't really sure whose job it was to catch Jason. 

“Jason! Hey, man! Can you hear me?” Jason just continued to stare at nothing with that same dazed expression on his face, so Leo squirmed one of his hands out from where it was crushed between their chests and gently smacked Jason’s cheek until blue met brown. “Wake up, Jason!”

Jason blinked hard a few times to focus his vision, and when he did his eyes widened in terror at the sight of what Leo assumed was the rapidly approaching ground beneath them. “Hang on! This is gonna get rough!” he ordered over the sharp whistling in Leo’s ears. Then he tucked Leo’s head under his chin and squeezed him tight right as a powerful gust of wind slammed into them from the side. 

Leo clung tight to Jason, hands fisted in the front of his shirt, as the two of them tumbled through the air like one of Leo's failed projects. They were headed straight for a nearby hill, which Leo assumed was Jason’s plan, and Leo braced himself for a very hard landing, followed by getting squashed into a pancake by 230 pounds of solid Roman demigod muscle. Only, that didn't happen. The landing was hard, even harder than Leo had originally assumed it would be, but at the last second, Jason jerked in midair, making sure he hit the ground first. They rolled a few times, which did definitely squeeze the air out of Leo’s lungs but left him otherwise unharmed, until they settled with Jason sprawled out flat on his back and Leo on top of him.

Leo blinked hard a few times to get the stars out of his eyes before his attention turned to Jason. He was lying there, completely still with his eyes closed, and Leo was horribly reminded of the sight of him in the infirmary bed after New Rome. Panic welled in the back of his throat and he started smacking his cheek again, a little harder than he had in the air. “Jace? Jace, you there? C’mon, man, please? Houston to Superman: Come in, Superman!”

“Superman to Houston: Stop hitting me, please,” Jason groaned, weakly batting Leo's hand away from his face.

Leo didn't care. He grabbed both of Jason’s cheeks up in his hands and gave him an absolutely blinding smile. “Jace!”

Jason just smiled back at him for a moment before his eyes went wide and he sat straight up, forcing Leo to sit up with him. His hands started patting Leo down before he desperately raked his fingers through Leo’s hair and cupped his hands around his jaw. “Leo! Oh my gods! Are you okay?”

“I'm Gucci, bro,” Leo grinned through his forced fish face. Jason just wrapped him up in a hug so tight, Leo couldn't help but wonder if they were going to start their free fall again. He frowned when Jason started trembling. “Jace? Are you okay?”

“You were falling,” Jason muttered quietly from where his face was hidden in Leo’s shoulder. “I don't like watching you fall.”

Leo felt his heart twinge in sympathy, and he patted the back of Jason’s head. “Hey, man, don't sweat it. I never do. I've got my own personal Superman to Lois Lane me when I need him, remember? He'd never let me fall too bad.”

Jason huffed out a quiet chuckle before he emerged. He carefully pushed Leo off of his lap and got to his feet so he could scowl down at the demigods fighting below. “Dammit. This is not how I planned for this to go.”

Leo’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah? How did you plan it? Were you looking for a hot date down in Charleston? Gonna hold somebody's hand while you walk them through the fort and gush about Civil War battle formations?”

Jason flushed maroon and he scowled at Leo, which just made him grin. “Shut up.”

“It's okay, buddy,” Leo comforted, patting him on the arm. “Next time we find a historical site, you can hold my hand and tell me stuff I won't listen to, if you can't find a real date.”

Somehow, Jason got even redder. “Shut up.”

Leo mimed zipping his lips, and Jason rolled his eyes. “Come on,  Houston. We need to get back to the ship.” He held out his arm like he was offering Leo a side hug. “You ready?”

“For you, Superman? Always,” Leo grinned as he took up his position. Jason's arm wrapped around him, and they shot off into the sky.

[dragqueenstarscream]

So I’m someone who is also an abuse survivor whose my situation was eerily similar to Starscream's in a lot of ways, I was initially writing this as a response to your post from a few days ago about why writing TFP Starscream redemption is really hard, but it kinda sorta grew beyond that a little bit so I figured I’d send it as an ask. I’m also not 100% sure how much of this is actually true and how much of it is just me projecting onto him so. yea

I feel like a big part of why it'd be really hard to put Starscream with the autobots, more specifically if the war isn't over yet, is that when Starscream isn't at Megatron's side he has an intense need to be the one responsible for taking him down. If he joined the autobots then at the end of it all Megatron wouldn't see it as *Starscream* taking him down.

The way I see it, Starscream has an intense need to be Megatron's top priority. It's the reason why he's able to on a dime switch from being undyingly loyal to him in one moment and betray him in the next. When he's with Megatron, he makes Megatron his top priority in the hopes that he will in return be Megatron's top priority, and when that doesn't happen, he lashes out and betrays him, because then Megatron *has* to make him his top priority. He couldn’t be his top priority as an ally, so he has to be his top priority as an enemy.

The tragedy of Starscream is that he's so hopelessly dependent on Megatron's attention that it doesn't even matter what form it comes in, which I think is also a big reason why he was willing to put up with the abuse, and is definitely the reason why when he learns about the omega keys the idea of him joining the autobots is barely given a second’s thought. If he joined the autobots he’d just be helping Optimus get the attention from Megatron that’s supposed to be going to *him*. Optimus, the one who this whole time has always been Megatron’s top priority as an enemy, has always had the one thing Starscream really wanted.

He’d rather go back to Megatron, knowing exactly what he’s signing up for in the moment, in hopes that *maybe* once he defeats the autobots and becomes the ruler of Cybertron, things will be different. And anyone can see that they wouldn’t be, but boy is he gonna delude himself into thinking they would.

And he’s not aware of any of this subtext, of course. He’s never gonna catch on that this was what it was always about. anyways I’ve never thought much of OpStar but now that i’m thinking about it there’s actually some sauce there I might have to look into this

this ask took me a while to answer because it genuinely made me think pretty hard about my own personal megatron and my situation there. i know that's weird coming from someone who posts about robot bdsm, but... yeah. yeah you really hit the nail on the head here.

if there's one thing starscream wants above all else, it's to be the center of megatron's attention. maybe in the past it was so that he could be admired by megatron, someone he may have once viewed as an idol or possible friend, but now, that's been subverted. megatron is obsessed with 1.) himself and 2.) optimus, and starscream is neither. if megatron won't pay attention to him for his merits, he'll definitely pay attention when starscream tries to kill him.

and that's why it hurts when megatron dismisses him. because even when starscream tries his damnedest to overthrow megatron, megatron sees him less like a legitimate threat and more like an annoying bug he wants to step on.

of course, starscream could join the autobots. optimus has made it clear that he's willing to welcome decepticons open to changing teams. he tried with dreadwing, and knock out switched sides of his own volition. it's not that decepticons can't become autobots. it's that starscream feels he can't, because then, he loses that attention. he loses megatron, and no matter how much he hates him, it's still a blow to his ego.

hell, the omega keys are the perfect example of this. cybertron was a deserted wasteland. he could've easily restored cybertron and crowned himself king if he wanted. but he threw aside his own dreams and desires (unethical as they may have been) for the attention of someone who wants him dead.

and that's the vicious cycle of abuse. abuse victims can get so caught in that cycle that it's just what they naturally return to, whether it's with their original abuser or someone just like them. victims will put up with so much shit just so they can feel "loved" by their abuser, and when the victim finally decides they've had enough, it can be difficult to just move on. victims may want their revenge, and that makes them their abuser's center of attention again.

it makes me wonder if starscream could ever truly kill megatron. that's the insidious thing about this type of abuse. abusers like this make your whole world revolve around them. once they're gone, you feel this sense of emptiness, this hole in your chest, because they've taken up so much of your life that it's hard to think of much else. it makes me think, even if starscream really did kill megatron, would he be able to break the cycle, or would he just feel an empty hole in his core?

i'm speaking from personal experience here. i won't go into too much detail, but my megatron is one of my parents. they've put me through so much bullshit, some of which actually threatened my life, and yet i still seek their attention because who doesn't want to be loved? who doesn't want attention?

but, like starscream, i get resentful. if they won't notice the good i do for them, they'll certainly notice my anger. i want to lash out and take my revenge. i want them to feel just how much i despise them. and maybe, when i do, things will be different.

but hey, unlike starscream, at least i'm self aware about it.

(on that last note though, yeah, this whole thing is why i love starop so much as a ship, especially with past megop. optimus has moved on from megatron after seeing him for who he really is, and maybe, just maybe, he can help starscream too. but not without some kicking and screaming on starscream's part because change can suck.)

[noxusstrap]

"I'll Get It Right This Time" An Ekko Time-Travel Fix It Fic

Ok so Hi! This is my first time ever dipping my toes into Tumblr posting besides just coming on here and reading some godly one-shots.

Im posting my fic here, as well as AO3, just in case!

Hope you guys enjoy!

CHAPTER I : THE BOY WHO SHATTERED TIME

Ekko felt like he was gonna hurl.

 Heimerdinger wasn't supposed to- he wasn't supposed to sacrifice himself like that, Powder wasn't supposed to come in during the process, wasn't supposed to see the real him, and he was so sure he wasn't supposed to see the expression she made at him so full of Love and Affection; but it all happened and he didn't know what to do now. He always thought himself to be the most sensible and sane of his former friends; but, now? Now he just wants to go back to his Jinx and save his people.

But the Universe had other plans.

He felt the hairs on his neck begin to stand up and he instinctively knew. The Hex Core was acting up, and he didn't know what to do. All it took was a single glance at the Z-Drive before everything went white.

_____

The first thing he could feel was the paved road beneath him, followed by the sounds of a bustling street and that distinct smell of Home.

It worked. 

Ekko sat up and silently cheered.

He was back! Only-

He paused and looked around, and everything was bigger than what he remembers, and that's when he noticed it; his hands were tiny. His child-like hands were just barely hanging onto the Z-Drive, or rather, what remained of it. The Hexcore glowed softly within the now shattered confinements of the Z-drive. The monkeys seemingly rusted like they've been used for decades rather than just a handful of times and all he could do was stare.

Oh Janna.

The device worked alright, but it worked too well, now; he's stuck in the past with no way back to the future.

It was supposed to only be four seconds…HOW COULD IT HAVE THROWN HIM OVER A DECADE TO THE PAST?!

“Fuck,” he sighed, just barely stopping himself from banging his head against the alley wall; he wasnt going to look a gifted horse in the mouth; he had gotten a once-in-a-lifetime chance and he was going to milk it for all it was worth. First things first, he had to figure out what day he was sent back to, and more importantly, what can he prevent from happening this time around to benefit the future?

Just as he was about to take a step out of the alley, he paused. He took a small glance at the Z-Drive; it was too big to disguise it as anything, and it would look suspicious if a small little child was carrying a device that looked like it could be worth millions even though it was severely damaged. He looked around, ducking between the dumpsters in the alley before finding a satchel, it was big enough to hold the broken Z-Drive but not big enough to arouse suspicion.

Ekko hummed, put the machine in the satchel and made his way out of the alley.

_____

His body instinctively carried him to Benzo’s Pawn Shop though his mind was absent, stirring with thoughts and possibilities of a different future, one where Jinx, Vi, Vander, and everyone else are still alive and well; it was dangerous to hope for that future. (he wanted to hope so so so badly-)

His thoughts come to a halt when they reach Jayce and his dear friend and partner, Viktor. He knew there was a universe out there where Hextech was never invented and it was an almost perfect world; of course he would know, he lived through it.

He paused right at the entrance of the shop, everything he could hear around him quieted to a light hum.

Just because Hextech went bad in one future doesn't mean we can't have good Hextech ideas and innovations. We just have to stop whatever the fuck Viktor did with the Hexcore; whatever it was. And- maybe bring Heimerdinger into this mess he made.

Ekko smirked and pushed open the doors. The ding of the bell rang resolutely throughout the small shop, and his false bravado fades as quickly as it appeared.

What if Benzo’s already Dead?

What if I arrived so much later than I predicted?

Was Powder still Powder?

Is Vander still Alive?

What if-

“Hey little man, where have you been all day, ey?” 

Ekko slowly looked towards the back of the shop, where the noise originated from. He knew that voice; he knew it better than anyone, but he couldn't just let himself hope before seeing him for himself.

He clutched the straps of the satchel holding the Z-Drive and took a single step towards the back room, before he could take another, a hand emerged from the back. He KNEW that hand.

And then he saw him.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come back to the shop, you just ran off and it’s dan-” Benzo gets cut off by Ekko slamming into his stomach at nearly sub-human speeds for a hug. He stumbles slightly, taken aback at the sheer strength Ekko showed, and lightly chuckled. “Woah there! Almost made me fall there, when did you get so strong Little Man!” He teases. 

Ekko let out an inaudible whimper, tightened his hold just a little more before releasing Benzo.

“Always been this strong Benzo.” Ekko’s voice miraculously kept an even tone despite everything in him wanting to cry and bury his face into the arms of his pseudo-father.

Benzo knew something was bothering Ekko, and he knew it had something to do with whatever he was carrying in that satchel of his, but chose not to pry, he could tell me what's going on if he really wanted me to know, he reasoned. Instead, he nuzzled Ekko’s hair and hummed, nodding to himself before slowly making his way to the back of the store.

“Listen kid-” Benzo stops in his tracks and calls over his shoulder, “Whatever you do, just be safe.” He smiles, and with that, he leaves. Ekko tries to get his body to move, to do anything, but it refused to listen. All he could do was watch the man he admired so much go back to his work.

Calm down, you need to calm down,Ekko chided himself, trying to psych himself up.

Everything’s okay, Benzo being here means Vander hasn't died yet, that means Claggor and Mylo are still alive and Power is still Powder. Ekko looked around the various shelves of knick knacks and useful items, his eyes gliding through them before stopping on a particular piece of hardware. It looked familiar, but where had he seen it before?

He narrowed his eyes, his mind fixated on this one piece; he knew this was before the deaths of everyone he loved but why was this specific piece of scrap ringing some sort of bell in his brai-

It was the last piece Jayce bought from them to complete his work.

Ekko felt bells frantically go off in his head; this means he was sucked back two months before Jayce’s apartment got blown up, two months before Ekko told anyone about the young scholar he scammed over the last couple of mechanisms needed to complete a project, two months was all he got to work with.

He cursed silently, his mind scrambling to make a cohesive plan with the amount of time he had at his disposal. If he could fix the Z-Drive, it would make his life so much easier, but as he took a single glance into the satchel, he decided it was best to leave that particular project on the back burner for now. He wouldn't even know where to begin with the Z-Drive without Heimerdinger's help, and even then, this wasn't his Heimerdinger anymore, this wasn't the brilliant Professor casted out of the Council; this isn't the Professor who found solace and companionship within the Firelights; this isn't the professor who sacrificed everything for him to be here right now.

Speaking of the Firelights, would they even be able to form now that he’s trying to fix everything? Would he be willing to establish the Firelights again for the sake of providing a sanctuary for the people of the Lanes? Oh without a doubt. But, he muses, it would be a couple of years from now that it would happen; for now, he needed to think of what to do, and he needed to write it down fast.

He scrambled to his little hideout on top of the shop, his fingers gliding through the first piece of paper he could find at lightning speeds, his mind running a hundred miles a minute, trying to formulate a plan that's feasible in two months, or 8 weeks, or if you really want to get technical, 1,460 hours. When he stopped writing, his hand was cramping, seemingly bruised from all the back and forth on the paper, but his mind was clear and his heart was finally beginning to hope for a better future this time around.

EKKO’S PLAN FOR ABSOLUTE WORLD DOMINATION (SAVING EVERYONES ASSES)

Stop Silco from mass producing Shimmer (Stop Silco in general by ANY means necessary) ((I want whatever they had in the Other world to happen here))

DON'T LET POWDER BECOME JINX! (maybe recruit her in his plans?) ((who is this ‘Isha’ girl I keep seeing in my dreams of my reality? Was she real? Why was she with Jinx?))

Prevent Jayce from fucking things up this time around (maybe help out with his experiments? Perhaps give him a reason to not fuck up the trade with Zaun with the Hexgates?)

Never let Claggor and Mylo die this time around. (They deserve a better future than what they got)

Get Heimerdinger to help turn Zaun into a Utopia (he mentioned doing so much in such little time? Was he the one who made Zaun a better place?)

Re-Establish the Firelights in case things go awry.

Fix the Z-Drive whenever possible (I don't want it to malfunction and bring more problems with it)

He looked at the now hung plan on his wall. He had two months to do everything on his list, and if they tried to stop him, he would make it EVERYONE'S problem. He knew the first thing on his agenda was regrettably the most time-consuming; but he couldn't afford to waste more time. He had to find a way to stop Silco even if it meant killing the guy, (he knew he had some good in him; he saw it in the alternate timeline, if he could just figure out what cause him to turn good in that timeline, it would make his life so much eas-). He had everything on the line, and he wasn't going to LOSE this time.

Let the games begin. Ekko smirked.

Am I gonna go insane writing this? Oh ABSOLUTELY!

Do I Care? FUCKKKKKK NOOOOOO!!!!!

Let me know what yall think; its my first time posting kinda nervy..